


You told me I was like the Dead Sea (I never sink when you are with me)

by orphan_account



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 09:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[AU] Oliver is on the run from Fyers and his mercs when he happens upon another castaway. However, as much as he's been suffering from sleep deprivation and hunger, she's carved out a corner of the island to survive off of. Thus begins their long journey toward freedom, love, and safety, <i>together</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning** : Rating for this story will change to Explicit when it reaches that point.

He could see smoke in the distance, and he could hear the stomping footsteps of his pursuers behind him. He rushed through the trees, batting branches out of his face, feeling them whip back, tearing at his skin, his clothes. His foot tripped over an upturned root and he cursed, stumbling forward, hands down to catch himself. His palms scraped over the ground, rocks and twigs alike, slicing open his skin, but he pushed forward, his knees feeling shaky. How long had it been since he drank anything? Since he ate? Hunger was so familiar at this point, he almost didn't feel it anymore. A full stomach was rare, and the time it took to make it full even rarer.

He didn't have time to complain about his lack of food, however. He had three mercs on his ass and they weren't slowing down. Oliver raised his head, searching out the smoke again. It wasn't one of Fiyer's camps; they all stayed suspiciously clear of this part of the island. He didn't know why, often taking his cues from where they went and didn't go for where he was able to venture. If they avoided it, there was a reason; dangerous fauna, toxic flora, there was always something. This was the first time he'd seen life though;  _human_ life anywhere near this area. And he was desperate.

Slade would tell him to fight. There were only three. But he was tired, he was hungry, and he didn't have any weapons on him. He could hear Slade's mocking laughter. " _You're_ the weapon!" But he didn't slow. He just kept going. Desperation made him trip. It made him uncoordinated. Shado would remind him that he needed to focus; he wasn't going to survive if he didn't stop and think and strategize. But Shado wasn't there.

He was on his own.

The footsteps were catching up and he was reminded, not for the first time, that even after spending all this time on the island, he was not as familiar with it as they were. They had maps, they knew where to step and where not to. It was a miracle he hadn't tripped a landmine already. Some part of him hoped he would. Some dark part of him was ready to be put out of his misery. But there was still some fight in him, which was why he was running. Always running.

He chased the elusive smoke and wondered if it was for food. Was there a boar roasting on a spit? His mouth watered, and he wouldn't have been surprised if a mirage appeared before him then. The dream of a desperate man. Food. Real food. Something that would make the gnawing of his gut stop, the emptiness full, the aching fear abate for just a moment.

He walked into something; his head knocking against shells and cylindrical bones; they banged together, making a whistling, jangling noise. Like music. Like wind chimes. He was confused, his feet tripping beneath him once more, but he didn't turn back, didn't stop to wonder why. He pushed forward, running, racing, until suddenly he wasn't. He wasn't on ground at all. He was upside down, in fact, dangling from a rope tied around his ankle.

His heart hammered painfully in his chest and he twisted and turned himself, forcing himself up toward his ankle to claw at the vine, not a rope, that held him high enough off the ground that he couldn't quite reach the tall grass with his fingertips. He swung side to side from his efforts, getting no closer to his leg, only managing to exert himself. He could feel the blood rush to his face, the veins pulsing out of his neck and at his temple.

His eyes darted in the direction he came, searching for the on-coming attackers. He could already imagine their amusement, their robust laughter at his predicament. Would they take their time? Carve him open for a while before putting him down? Let him dangle there, bleeding out, begging for the pain to stop?

He renewed his struggle to get free, but only managed to scratch at his leg, the vine seeming only to tighten around his ankle. Whoever made it had tied various vines together, making them thicker, stronger, and laid a trap for just this instance. Was it the same person whose fire he had stupidly chased?

And then he heard it. The footsteps slowed and a laugh met his ears. He turned his head to find the mercenaries walking toward him, two wearing guns over their shoulder, gripped in their dirty hands, while a third raised a large machete he'd been using to cut through the foliage during his pursuit.

Fyers' men. Mercenaries charged with little more than delivering whatever Fyers wanted, dead or alive. At this point, Oliver wouldn't be surprised if they wanted him brought in dead; less chance of him finding his way free. And it looked like they might just get their wish. He couldn't get out. He couldn't get down. There were three of them, all armed, and one of him, with nothing to defend himself.

He closed his eyes, inhaled deep, and tried to calm himself, to limit the fear that boiled up inside him, desperate to be shown.

He'd been in situations like this many times before. He'd faced death more times than he could count, to be honest. And the same things always went through his mind. His mother, Thea, Tommy, Laurel. Slade and Shado were added to his list mental list of goodbyes, of regrets. He masked his expression, trying to show a lack of fear; he wouldn't give them the pleasure.

The machete wielding leader advanced forward, jogging ahead as if he was just that eager to get to the torture. But then his foot hit the wrong spot; he wasn't paying attention. Oliver heard the click a split-second before the merc did. Enough time to watch his terror reach his face as he mistakenly kept moving forward. And then there was an explosion. Dirt and fire went wild and he exploded before Oliver's eyes, falling in pieces.

There was a shout of surprise from the two remaining men, who quickly looked to the ground, as if it would be obvious where the right spot to step would be. But as they whirled in circles, quick to step backwards, away from their fallen comrade, it seemed that the danger wasn't only below.

Oliver watched as a silver dagger came from somewhere in the trees, it flipped top over bottom, cutting through the air so swiftly there was just a glint from the sun before it was embedded in the throat of one of the mercs. He reached for it, but the blood gushing out only lasted a moment before he fell to his knees, paling quickly and dropping to the grass, face first.

The last merc started shooting. There was no exact direction; he just let bullets fly, hoping they would hit the intended target. He turned left and right, eyes wildly searching for any sign of his attacker. But all was quiet, still, no sign of who had come to Oliver's rescue. And then suddenly the merc stumbled backwards, a spear lanced through his chest, thrown hard enough that it went straight through him, sticking out his back.

"死亡天使," he croaked, his hand gripping the shaft of the spear, pulling just an inch before the blood coated his hand and he shook his head. Blood filled his mouth, spraying over his chin as he coughed, and then he fell sideways, lying dead in the long grass.

Oliver stared, his eyes wide, brows hiked, and then turned his head up, searching the branches.

The forest was quiet. Too quiet. He could hear rustling, faintly, but he couldn't be sure if it was the wind or an animal. Where were they? Was there more than one? Was he surrounded? Local natives, maybe. Though he'd never seen any. He waited and waited, his heart slowly calming down as death didn't come for him as it had the others.

And then—  _crack!_

He turned his head abruptly, only to inhale sharply as he found himself face to face with a woman.

He blinked. This hadn't been what he was expecting.

She wasn't tall, or it didn't seem so from the angle he was hanging. Her hair was brown, but the ends were a washed out blonde, like it had been dyed previously, but lost its color over time. She had it braided all over, tied back with a knot of fabric. She wasn't native to the island then; as if her skin, pale in places she'd been careful to cover up, burned in others, and tanned more often than not, didn't give the fact away. She wore glasses, a crack on the bottom of the left lens, and the piece over her nose seemingly held together with a hard, off-white substance. Her face was lean, making her cheekbones stand out a little more, not quite gaunt, but not as full as they could be.

She was pretty. Even with her burnt forehead and the freckles over her the bridge of her nose from the sun. She had large eyes, a bright, ocean blue, that stared into him, demanding answers.

"You don't look like a mercenary," she said, her voice skeptical.

She circled around him, not quite in reach, and he could see her hand on the hilt of a blade at her hip. Her clothes were faded, but clean; he could see numerous places they'd had to be repaired; jagged sewing here or there, as if the fabric had been caught on something and tore in an awkward pattern. She tried to keep as covered as possible, with cargo pants that reached her ankles, even if the ends were tattered, a tank top that bore signs of sweat, new and old, and a jacket, military green; it had fared better than most of her other clothes.

"I'm not," he finally said, searching her eyes. "Please. Let me down. I—I'm not one of them. I was trying to get away."

Her eyes narrowed for a moment before she let out a faint laugh. She reached for the collar of her jacket and tugged it down, showing him a thin, white scar curving around her neck. "That's what I got the last time I let one of you down… You can see why I'm not eager for a repeat."

He ground his teeth. "I'm not with Fyers. I was marooned here. I was on a yacht with my father; it went down. There was a storm… My lifeboat washed up here. I've been trying to survive since."

She continued to circle him, making him turned his head to follow her. She moved gracefully, accustomed to her surroundings, trusting that she knew where to step and where to avoid. He wondered how long she'd been there, and if she'd learned to kill from her time here, or from her time before the island. This used to be for prisoners, where the Chinese government had banished their worst. What was to say she wasn't one of them? She was American, sure, her accent was obvious enough, but it wouldn't be the first time an American went to another country and broke their laws.

She didn't look like a killer. There was a weird gentleness to her, or maybe he was reaching. But there was something different about the way she looked at him. She killed the others because she knew they were mercs; she wasn't sure about him, so she didn't seem as willing to put him down… What did that mean?

"My name is Oliver… What's your name?"

She raised an eyebrow and kept moving, like a caged cat trying to decide if she was going to pounce.

"Look, the only way you're going to know for sure that I'm not one of them is to ask me…  _Talk_  to me."

She pursed her lips in a disgruntled pout. "Why were they chasing you?"

"Like I said, I've been trying to survive since I arrived here. Fyers and his men found me; thought they could use me to their advantage."

"And why would they think they?" she wondered.

He shook his head. "Tit for tat."

A muscle ticked in her jaw as she glanced away.

A ruthless person would remember that he was at their mercy. They would carve the answers out of him if they needed to. They wouldn't flinch at the opportunity to assert their dominance. But she, whoever she was, didn't go that route.

"Ask your question."

He stared at her as she stopped just feet in front of his face, staring at him squarely. "What's your name?"

She didn't answer right away, letting a second pass, and then another. Until finally she said, "Felicity. My name is Felicity Smoak."


	2. Chapter 2

Oliver stared at her as she stopped just feet in front of his face, staring at him squarely. "What's your name?"

She didn't answer right away, letting a second pass, and then another. Until finally she said, "Felicity. My name is Felicity Smoak."

"Felicity," he repeated, letting it roll over his tongue, tasting it, asking himself if Felicity would be the name of the person who finally killed him, or maybe her streak of saving him would continue. She'd already killed three men and spared him. Would she continue?

"Now why would Fyers think he could use you to bargain for anything?" she demanded, her brow furrowed.

He considered lying. It wasn't as if his name was carrying the right kind of weight of late. But what could one woman do with the information? It was a faulty way of thinking, he was sure; he could just imagine Slade cursing up a storm, rolling his eyes at Oliver's stupidity.

"I'm Oliver Queen… My family is one of the wealthiest in the United States…" He stared at her searchingly. "My life would garner a large ransom."

She smiled slowly, but it wasn't the caustic, sneering smile he'd seen before. She shook her head. "A billionaire… Just my luck."

He frowned, confused by her reaction.

"I think you know a friend of mine…" She raised an eyebrow at him. "Bruce Wayne. My employer. Or, well,  _former_ employer now, I guess. I mean, it's been four years, he's probably replaced me. I can't say I'm surprised, although the idea of anyone touching my computers hurts me in a very special place in my soul. But I can't blame him. He's got a whole company to run, he can't wait for one IT specialist to show back up after the company plane takes a nosedive into the North China Sea."

He blinked. He wasn't sure he had enough brain power currently to process her rambling. "Wayne," he repeated. "You're from Gotham."

"Not initially. I moved there for a job… and then that job got me marooned on an island, so…" Her eyes widened. "I wouldn't say it was the best decision I ever made."

His lips twitched. That was…  _unexpected_. In fact, everything about this woman was. She came out of nowhere to save him, chose mercy over her own safety, even having admitted it had hurt her once before, babbled like she somehow wasn't currently in full control of the situation, and made cracks about their current predicament. It had been a long time since he'd talked to anyone who wasn't so dark and jaded that humor was a lost concept. To be honest, he was teetering too close to that cliff himself; it wasn't hard to when faced with the trials and terrors the island had to offer.

"Queen… That's Queen Consolidated, Starling City, right?" She nodded. "I think I was offered a job there, right after I got out of MIT… But Bruce already beat you guys to the punch."

"I'd point out that you wound up on the island after taking the job with him, but I'm not sure I'm in any place to point fingers."

Her mouth curved up on one side and she tipped her head to stare at him a moment, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "So let's say I believe you… Let's say you're not with the mercs and you're just a poor, unfortunate soul, washed up on literal purgatory. What am I supposed to do with you, hm?" She folded her lips and paced away a few steps. "I could blindfold you, walk you somewhere, far enough away from Fyers that he won't be an issue, but also far away from my little corner of paradise…" she murmured, taking on a sardonic tone. "But, and this is just my bleeding heart making a sudden reappearance… You look hungry, your clothes are pretty torn up, and, no offense, but you could definitely use a bath…"

He stared at her a long second, his mouth twisted up. "Do you have a hidden hotel tucked away somewhere that I somehow missed?"

"Not a hotel, no…" She turned back to him, hands on her hips. "But it's got a certain island charm."

He wasn't sure how to respond. She could just as easily kill him as walk him to some desolate part of the island to fend for himself. But he'd seen the fire, the smoke, and he was willing to bet money that she was cooking something somewhere. The prospect of food had his stomach growling desperately. Her eyes raised to stare at his stomach a moment and then something he hadn't seen in a long time filled her face.

 _Empathy_.

But then she was pulling her dagger from her hip and his heart stuttered, leaping into his throat. Maybe empathy translated differently for her; maybe she thought she'd put him out of his misery right here and now. He looked from her to her dagger and back.

She let out a tiny snort. "Calm down, Richie Rich. The vine is made specifically so it can't just be untied; it has to be cut…" She took a step back and then glanced at him. "Cover your head, but relax your body; it won't hurt as much."

"What—?"

She tossed the dagger and it sliced through the vine like it was butter. He felt the release immediately and fell to the hard ground, his arms just barely having time to cover his head. He landed hard and his breath whooshed out of him. She was already walking past him, climbing up a tree to retrieve her dagger where it was imbedded in the bark. She returned to find him still lying on the ground, groaning as he stared, blinking up at the sky, a cloudy blue blotted out by thick tree branches all criss-crossing above.

She leaned over him, a few of her braids toppling over her shoulders. "Come on. It won't be long until the animals come looking to pick at the bodies. I don't really want to be around for that."

She held a hand out for him and he stared at it a moment. "I don't bite… Unless you're into that thing… Not that I'm offering, I'm just saying, you know, no judgement."

He blinked, slightly disoriented, and then reached for her hand, pushing himself up as she pulled to help him to his feet. She was stronger than she looked, which shouldn't surprise him. Not when he knew Shado, or when he'd seen Felicity's ability to take out an opponent. But still… Now that he was standing, he realized just how petite she was. Her head barely met his shoulder. She had curves, but her body was lean, muscled, born of her time on the island, he was sure. He wondered what she looked like before she was marooned there. Soft, he decided. He bet she looked soft and gentle, sweet and quirky.

She reached up to adjust her glasses and tipped her head back to see him better. "You were upside down a while, can you walk straight?"

He nodded, but his feet didn't agree as quickly. He felt a little off-kilter as they started to move. She reached for him, catching his elbow even as he flinched away from the touch. His first reaction was to attack, to defend himself, but she wasn't showing any signs of wanting to hurt him. She merely looked up at him, her brows hiked, waiting for him to calm down. He wondered if that was because she knew she could take him if it came to it, or if she expected he wouldn't really attack.

He wasn't sure which was worse. Here was this tiny little killing machine that, if pushed, he was pretty sure really could fight him. But, in the same breath, she was trusting him. During his time on the island, he'd learned that trust could be as much a liability as a necessity. But Felicity appeared guileless, taking his word for truth, accepting him onto her apparently very protected piece of the island, inviting him to enjoy her food and, thankfully, bathe. He still wasn't sure how she was going to manage that feat, but she seemed to be accomplishing it for herself, so he would just have to see.

She nodded her head forward to tell him to start walking. She didn't take the lead, instead walking at his back, and he knew that was only a safety precaution on her part. If she wanted to kill him, she would have. Unless, of course, she enjoyed the chase. He didn't see that though. When he looked at her, he saw something else, something that reminded him of home. An innocence that seemed incongruent with what he'd seen so far.

They walked for a while in silence, with only the occasional, "Move to the left," "Go right," and "Stay on the path," to guide him. He wasn't sure, but he thought she was walking him around landmines at some points. At his raised eyebrow, she answered his unasked question.

"I disabled them, dug them out, moved them here, and re-enabled them."

"You said you were in IT…?"

She smiled lightly. "I'm good with my hands." She paused. "In… a technical way. Not like…  _sexually_. Although, I wouldn't say I'm inept at that either. Not that you needed to know that. I mean, I—I wasn't hitting on you. Not exactly the place for that. But, you know, even if it was, I woudn't be. Because that would be weird, and we're kind of enemies, business-wise, and, well, we don't know each other, not really."

He stifled a laugh; the unfamiliar feeling making his chest feel light. He shook his head a little.

Before he could answer her on-going ramble, he came to a sudden stop, his eyes wide as he looked up at the sight before him.

"Home sweet home," she said, her breath warm at his ear as she leaned in to tease him. She grinned widely before she walked past him, stepping off the path and moving toward the thick trees that held a huge, elaborate tree house. It was high off the ground, made up of three connected bungalows spread over a bunch of trees. Wood and vines made up each square structure, nestled amongst the branches as if an extension of them. She'd built a bridge between them, each one a little higher than last.

"How do you get up?" he wondered, following after her at a job.

"Unfortunately, I don't exactly have the electricity to get an elevator put in.  _So_ …." She grabbed a thick, hanging vine, and started climbing. He watched as she moved, higher and higher, reaching for another vine half way up and climbing onto it, swinging a little as she continued her way up. "Well? What are you waiting for? A bell-hop?"

He shook his head. Remarkable. Really and truly remarkable. He reached for the vine she'd started with. He gave it a hard pull and found it sturdy. It was thick around that his hand almost didn't fit completely. He reached high above his head and gripped tight before jumping in the air and wrapping his legs around it, his ankles finding a good hold. He started pulling, the burn of his muscles protesting all too familiar. He climbed and climbed, working up a sweat the farther he went. He followed her example and, halfway up, grabbed onto another vine to climb up further. He had to cross over twice more until he was close enough to drop a foot onto a wood failing that surrounded the lower bungalow.

Felicity had crossed the bridge to the middle hut, thick grass and wood slats making up the roof. There were unlit lanterns hanging in various places, and he could just imagine what it looked like in the dead of night, a warm glowing beacon.

He walked into the lower half and found it was dressed like a small living room. There were chairs made up of wood and vines, a small, crudely shaped table, a few faded books on top of it, the edges showing severe signs of water damage. Had she salvaged them from the plane crash? It would explain her clothes. She probably had a suitcase or two with her. Maybe even a few others if more than her had survived. If they had, he didn't see any signs of them. There were a number of radios, all taken apart, wires sticking out, and tools spread out over another table. Had she raided Fyers camps? She had a hand-held radio too; he wondered if she turned it on when she was here, listening to see if any of the mercs were getting close to her hideout.

"Hungry?" her voice called out.

He turned toward her and found her standing just outside the door to the second bungalow. Nodding, he walked toward her, hesitantly stepping onto the bridge before he realized just how steady it was. Still, he hurried across it; he was a lot heavier than she was and didn't want to take his chances.

The second bungalow was a kitchen. There was a make-shift broom tucked in a corner. Counters were built all around the edges and atop them were bowls filled with various fruits. She had jugs of water, cups and cutlery, and he knew then she had definitely raided the camps at some point; whether they were abandoned at the time or not, he couldn't be sure. She was quiet though, stealthy; he wouldn't put it past her to have snuck up, taken what she wanted, and snuck away before they saw her.

"Meat's on. Won't be ready for a while. But you're free to eat your fill of fruit and vegetables for now." She pointed a thumb to where she kept a bowl full of fresh peas and carrots. There were a couple potatoes nearby too, not yet washed, and a knife lying beside them. He could already imagine a stew, with thick gravy and meat so juicy it melted on his tongue.

"When you're done eating, I'll show you the spring. You can have a bath and then I'll help you find your way back. Sound good?"

He blinked, glancing at her, and nodded jerkily. "Sure. Uh… Thank you." He stared at her genuinely. "Really."

She half-smiled. "No worries." She waved her hand back at the food and then walked away, making her way up another bridge. He watched her go for a moment, his gaze moving past her to the last bungalow. He would bet money that it was where she slept. The higher she was, the farther away from danger. Did she have a bed up there? With pillows and blankets. He bet it was warm. He missed the comforts of home; pillows and blankets and soft sheets. Felicity had somehow found her way around the elements and she was a happier, healthier individual because of it.

Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the food. He didn't know where to start. The apples were huge; he could already taste the juice sliding down his throat. He took a little bit of everything; grapes, apples, peas, carrots, and he drank so much water he could feel it swishing around in his stomach.

He sat down on a chair, an arm wrapped around the bowl of fruit as he gorged himself, stuffing his mouth until his cheeks stuck out. He'd kill for this food if he had to. He was so hungry, he was practically inhaling it.

"Careful. Try to breathe in between bites," her voice interrupted.

He jumped, looking back over his shoulder to see her.

She raised an amused eyebrow. "There's plenty of food, Oliver. I'll pack you up some when you leave."

He paused for a moment, his eyes falling, and then he nodded.

It seemed her generosity knew no bounds.

Turning back to the bowl, he asked, "How'd you do it?"

She didn't answer right away, and so he elaborated.

"How did you build this place? And find food and somewhere to bathe? How'd you keep Fyers from finding you?"

She moved around him, sighing under her breath, and finally took a seat on the chair across from him. "When I landed here, there were three other people with me… The first one, the pilot, he died from his injuries… Didn't last a week." She shook her head, turning her eyes off in thought. "The other two lasted longer. See, Fyers only showed up here two years ago. For two years, we were basically alone here and we didn't know if we'd ever get off the island. So we decided to make the best of it.

"Joseph, he was an architect. He was actually an old friend of Bruce's. He only hopped on the jet last minute. He just needed a ride and I happened to be going the same way, so Bruce offered him a seat… He designed this place. Originally, it was supposed to have five levels. One bungalow for each of us…"

There was a long pause then, as if she was gathering the strength to talk about it. Oliver didn't push, busying himself with a large bunch of grapes.

Her voice was quiet, strained when she continued, "Nora died first. She was young, right out of college. She was… She was my assistant." She swallowed tightly. "She liked to garden at home; it was a hobby, I guess. She knew what to pick and what not to. She said to watch the animals, avoid what they avoid, eat what they eat. She found some of the vegetables growing naturally and she started taking care of them, using them to grow more. She used to cook the most delicious meals, like… five-star dining…" She rolled her eyes. "Or, well, I guess it would be if we had all the ingredients. But, given what she had to work with, yeah, I wasn't complaining…" Her gaze dropped as she picked at a groove in the wood tabletop.

"How'd she die?" he asked after a moment.

She shook her head. "It was stupid… We were leaving the water hole. We'd just cleaned up, washed the clothes, and she stepped on one of the rocks wrong… It was slippery and she fell, hit her head, cut it open… It wasn't bad, just— just a cut, you know? She had a concussion, so we kept her awake, but the cut… The cut got infected and… we didn't have anything for it. She died slowly, in a lot of pain… She cried all the time. She was delirious near the end. She just… I—I'd sit with her, try to bring her fever down, try to make her comfortable. And she'd just reach for me… 'Jen, is that you?' she'd ask… Her sister. Her sister's name was Jen… She died when Nora was eight."

He watched her, the grief clouding her face.

She blinked rapidly; he was sure there were tears burning her eyes. Shaking her head, she offered a faint smile. "I told her I was— I told her Jen was with her… She died holding my hand, smiling… I tell myself I made it better somehow, but I don't know for sure."

She twisted her hands together, tugging at her fingers. "Joseph taught me how to build things… I was terrible at first. But he was a good teacher… Patient." She nodded. "It was a little easier when Fyers showed up. We could sneak supplies from him and his men. They were always building things; they didn't notice when stuff went missing. Woods, nails, hammers; they didn't blink. For the longest time, they never even came to our side of the island. They stuck to theirs, made their landing pad and their camps…

When we first saw them, we thought they might rescue us, but… When we went to meet them, we realized they weren't on a rescue mission, and they probably wouldn't be interested in changing their plans. I tried to piggyback off their signal a few times, but it was too dangerous. There was just me and Joseph and he wasn't trained for anything but building and drawing…"

He quirked his head, wondering why it was an IT specialist  _was_ trained for anything, but Felicity didn't elaborate on that, and he knew she'd seen his curiosity about it.

She offered a faint smile. "Joseph didn't like it when I went to the camps. He thought it was too dangerous. Typical man; he thought it'd be smarter if he went…" She shook her head. "He'd just finished the third bungalow, but we still needed tables, a bed, and I was always asking for more radios, something to pull apart and put back together… I told him not to go that night. Fyers was onto us. He'd sent mercs to scope out our side of the island. I think he saw the smoke… We'd been setting up traps though, all around the area, keeping them at bay. There's only so much we could do. Joseph thought if he could just get in, get a few more things, we'd be set for a while…" She stopped as her voice caught, cracking.

He frowned knowingly. "He didn't make it out."

She glanced at him, her eyes glistening with tears she didn't bother to blink back this time as she gave a sharp shake of her head. "I- I went to find him. It wasn't like him to take that long… They—Fyers, he had him strung up. He… He was covered in blood… He was crying… They- They cut him open. Just… God, it was awful. He was just slowly bleeding out." She swiped a hand over her cheeks and under her nose. "He saw me, just on the edge of the forest. And I couldn't hear him at first, I couldn't make it out, but then he said it louder, he whimpered it… ' _Please_ …' Just 'please.' I thought… I thought he wanted me to help him at first, but… He shook his head. He didn't want help. He didn't want to be saved… He wanted to die. He wanted the pain to stop."

He stared at her, a lump forming in his throat. "He wanted you to kill him."

"And I did." She swallowed thickly. "I looked him in the eye and I threw my dagger into his throat. He died in seconds." Pushing up from the table, she took a few steps away from him, her hands on her hips, gripping the fabric of her pants tightly. Letting out a shuddering breath, she said, "After he died, I was on my own… I built the rest of the furniture, I took care of Nora's garden, and I kept my part of the island safe… Anybody who got too close quickly remembered why they shouldn't…" She turned to face him, her face hard, and yet, even knowing that she'd killed, it seemed wrong on her. "There's a line they don't cross. They learned that a long time ago… If they do, they die."

His brow furrowed. "That man… As he was dying, he said something…"

"死亡天使" she said in fluent Chinese. She met his eyes as she translated. "Angel of Death." With a shrug, she explained, "You get a reputation after a while, and even mercenaries like to spin their legends."

His gaze fell for a moment. "You could have killed me."

She nodded slowly.

"But you didn't."

Her eyes darted away for a moment before she murmured, "Don't make me regret it."

After a long pause, he nodded. "I won't."

Staring searchingly into his eyes, she gave a short nod. "Finish eating and I'll show you the water hole."

With that, she walked away, making her way down to the make-shift living room. He wondered briefly what she must have seen in his eyes that allowed her to trust him. He hadn't landed on this island with her. The few people who had, had all suffered terrible deaths. He was a virtual stranger, with only a name she vaguely recognized and the fact that he was running  _away_ from Fyers' goons to give him any kind of credibility. This was not the kind of place that one saved another on blind faith alone. But here he was, in a tree house, eating food for the first time in too long, with the promise of a bath, clean clothes, and a fuller belly on the horizon.

Whatever she saw in him, he hoped it stayed there. Because as much as he felt he should look for Slade, some part of him thought he might want to stay a little longer in Felicity's bungalow paradise. The company wasn't bad, the resources plentiful, and, if she was right, Fyers wasn't going to be quick to come looking for him over here. But as much as she seemed to trust him for the moment, he wasn't sure how far that trust would reach.

Would she let him stay?

He stared at the pretty woman who had saved his life as she tinkered with a radio while she sat cross-legged on the floor, her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth and her brow furrowed in concentration.

He hoped she would. For the first time since his lifeboat washed up on this godforsaken island, he was feeling hope. And he didn't want to lose that feeling.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely fic poster made by **[dhfreak](http://dhfreak.tumblr.com/post/71804998051/you-told-me-i-was-like-the-dead-sea)** , so leave some love and reblog from her Tumblr. ;)

  
[](http://dhfreak.tumblr.com/post/71804998051/you-told-me-i-was-like-the-dead-sea) 

 

Felicity was pretty sure this was the dumbest thing she'd ever done. On the bright side, however, it would probably make for an interesting chapter in the book she planned to write whenever she got off this island of awful. Of course, she'd have to actually find a way  _off_ said island before dreams of book writing actually came to fruition, and trusting a random man with a vaguely familiar name wasn't exactly her best plan in making that happen. But there was something about him, something that, despite the situation and her terrible history, told her she could trust him.

Maybe he'd be her Wilson. Of course, he'd be a lot more animated than a bloody handprint on a volleyball. Or, at least, she hoped so. And for all that she knew it was dangerous, Oliver Queen did have a certain visual appeal. Maybe that was her complete lack of sex life talking. There weren't exactly a whole lot of options when it came to sex when she was on an island surrounded only by people willing and eager to kill her… Then again, she wasn't completely sure Oliver wouldn't take the first chance he could to kill her. Especially since she'd so naively shown him her bungalow, meaning he had incentive.

Then again, her whole part of the island was booby-trapped, so even if he did manage to get the drop on her, she could die knowing he wouldn't live long afterwards, not without her to guide him.

Ugh, that was a really morose thought. She needed a hobby.

"I thought tinkering with the radios was your hobby," Oliver piped up from ahead of her.

Oh, crap, she said that out loud. Wow, she hoped that was the only thing that slipped out. "It is. But… it's either static or jerks with machetes; the results are limited."

"Some of them have guns," he offered jokingly.

She snorted. "And knives."

"And grenades."

"Well, this is an uplifting conversation."

He ducked his head forward but she could see the curve of a smile on his lips. "So how far is this water hole?"

"Not much further," she answered. "Walk on the left side of the path for the next thirty feet."

He quickly took her advice, frowning down at the ground. "Hey, how do you remember where everything is?"

"You don't tend to forget where you put little discs of death," she muttered sardonically.

He raised an eyebrow back at her. "It's a pretty big island."

"I didn't have much else to do but explore." She shrugged. "It was either learn the land or sit around crying until help came. Obviously if I'd picked the ladder, I'd be dead, so…"

He hummed, nodding as he turned back around. "Have you ever thought about it?"

"About what?"

"Dying."

She paused. "Sure. It's hard not to when you've had so many attempts on your life."

He sighed. "No, I mean… Giving up."

She watched his hands ball into fists, his shoulders tensing.

"Have you ever just gotten tired of being here and wanted to just…  _stop_. Stop surviving and fighting and looking for some kind of relief?"

His voice was so sad, so hollow, and a little part of her heart ached for it.

"In the beginning, maybe," she admitted. "I mean, it was hard after Nora died, but I was completely alone after Joseph… And it wasn't like I could blame it all on Fyers, I mean, I'm the one that put him out of his misery."

"He asked you to."

"Because he was in pain. Sometimes, when things like that are happening, you get desperate, but then… Then it shifts and it gets better and you realize that you just had to hold on a little longer. Maybe if he knew that, he wouldn't have begged me for death."

"And maybe Fyers' men would've tortured him to death if you hadn't. Or maybe they would've caught you and killed you too." He shook his head.

"You sound like someone who's gone through something similar," she said, watching him curiously.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "If you're asking if I've lost people, I have."

"People you blame yourself for?"

He let out a heavy breath and didn't answer right away, letting seconds pass before he finally struggled to reply, "I… It was his… My father…" He shook his head. "My father killed himself so I would live."

Her eyes fell, staring at the dirt path in front of them for a moment. "I can't imagine how that made you feel."

He laughed bitterly. "It depends on the day. Sometimes I think I failed him, that he died for no reason… That if he made it here instead, he would've done a damn better job of surviving."

"And other days?"

He looked weary as he glanced back at her. "Other days I let what he did drive me to keep going… It's the only reason I'm still alive now."

She stared at him a long moment, as they continued to trek through the wilderness.

And then the rushing sound of water reached her ears. "Well, I can't make that hurt any less, but I can at least make surviving just a little less gross." She hurried her steps and walked past him. "C'mon… It's not a spa, but I guarantee you'll feel fresh as a daisy when you're done." She winked, offered a small smile before she turned back and rushed ahead to the water hole.

It was fairly large, and deep enough to swim in. A spring high above on the jutting, jagged rocks split off in two directions, one leading down to a far-off river, and the other filling this watering hole. The water was cold, there was no way around that, but it was fresh and clean. She unzipped her jacket and toed off her battered shoes before she skimmed out of her cargo pants, leaving her in little more than her underwear and a grey tank top. She looked back at him over her shoulder and grinned. "Well? What do you think?"

He stared at the waterhole a long moment, his mouth curving up on one side. "Got any soap?"

She laughed under her breath and reached down for her jacket to dig in the pocket, coming up with a bar. "I might not like having Fyers' around, but I'll admit that if he wasn't, I wouldn't have nearly as many necessities. You can't steal from nothing." She tossed the bar toward him, which he managed to catch.

Turning on her heel, she walked into the water, careful on the rocks that shifted under her feet. When the water reached mid-thigh, she dove under and swam a few feet, arms and legs reaching far and wide before she breached the surface.

Oliver was still standing where she left him, but he began undressing when she came up looking no worse. As he tugged his shirt off, her mouth went dry. He was… more than just a pretty face. Sinew laced his chest and spread across his broad shoulders and long arms. His stomach was defined, packed with muscle, and she found herself biting her lip. He divested himself of his pants, shoes and socks before finally making his way toward the water, but when he dipped a toe in first, she laughed.

"You've faced mercenaries and you're afraid of a little water?" she called to him.

He frowned at her. "It's cold."

"Only at first. You get used to it." She turned herself over to float on her back, her arms lightly moving through the water.

She could hear him splashing as he moved deeper and eventually the dip as he went under and came back up. For a moment, her body went still, recognizing that someone was there, someone was near, and she was vulnerable to attack. Hell, she was in water deep enough to be drowned in. Bruce would never let her live it down if he realized how foolish she was being. And he wasn't the only one.

She could just imagine her martial arts teachers back home sighing at her in that disappointed way, wondering why she would put herself in danger when she'd always been taught to be aware, to work to her advantage. From the time she was five years old, her mother had put her in every self-defence class she could find. Felicity had been a naturally skinny girl, all arms, legs, knees, and elbows, and she'd been picked on a lot. The point of the classes wasn't to learn how to fight her bullies, but to build her confidence by giving her the tools to feel like she wasn't a victim.

When she was just seventeen years old, she graduated high school and was quickly ensconced in the world of MIT, where computers and technology became her life. But practicing martial arts never left her; in fact, they saved her from a number of skeevy frat boys. And later, when she got a job at Wayne Enterprises, they ended up being the reason she found a new platform for her ideas. Bruce Wayne was a lot more than just a billionaire in a suit, and definitely more than his image portrayed. While she was sure he initially signed her on to help out his alter-ego with advanced teach, he soon learned that she wasn't just a brain. Adding Batman's teachings to that of her former mentors, she could safely say that she was far more lethal than most would expect.

But all of her mentors agreed on one very fine point; survival was one thing, killing was another. She'd had to do things on this island that she wished she never had, and she was sure that those same mentors would tell her there were other ways. But they didn't live what she had. She regretted every life that was lost due to her, but she warned them not to come to her part of the island, she gave them a chance, and they chose to try to hunt her. She was only defending what little life she had left.

And now she was betraying what had kept her alive this long by allowing this man to creep past her defenses and share in what little she had scraped together. Was that the wrong choice to make? Probably. But then, she could also remember being taught, at just 8 years old, that she shouldn't assume that anyone is an enemy, she should hold out her hand in the hopes of friendship, and only defend if defense was needed.

Then again, she had a scar on her throat that said sometimes that outstretched hand found the wrong person to grab it.

The abundance of splashing told her he was washing up but, while a part of her was very interested in seeing him lathered up in bubbles, she kept her eyes on the sky.

"It's weird, isn't it…? That if you just look at the sky and not what's around you, you can almost convince yourself you're anywhere else," she murmured.

It took him a moment to reply, but she felt the water ripple as he swam closer. He copied her, turning over onto his back to stare above. "If you could be anywhere, where would you be?"

Her lips curled up in a faint smile. "Home, in Coast City, at my mom's house in front of her fireplace, with her dog Skipper at my feet."

He hummed. "Skipper's a terrible name for a dog."

She chuckled. "Yeah, it is. Especially for that dog, it was terrified of the water."

"Did you have any pets before…?"

 _Before the island_ , she finished for him mentally.

"No. Too busy. I had a goldfish once, but it died. I felt bad leaving it alone, so I tended to overfeed it." She frowned. "I always wanted a dog though."

"Yeah? What would you name it?"

"I don't know… I mean, it'd probably depend on their personality. But, I've always liked the name Duke, or something strong like Maximus."

"Duke's not bad."

She smiled. "Yeah. He'd probably have to be a big dog… Loyal, too. And friendly. Duke just sounds like a friendly dog, right?"

"Sounds like an old companion."

"Exactly."

They drifted aimlessly in the water for a while, just staring up at the sky. She imagined a life where she returned home, free at last, and found herself a puppy at a pound somewhere, took him home and dubbed him the illustrious title of Duke the Loyal. He'd grow up by her side, a solid presence that never wavered.

It could've been minutes or hours before he broke the comfortable spell.

"Felicity?"

"Hm?"

"If I asked to stay a little longer, would you let me?"

Her eyes fell from the sky, letting the tops of the trees edge into her vision. "It's a risk, you know… Trusting you."

"I swear I'm not going to do anything to hurt you," he assured earnestly.

"Island rules usually mean we each fend for ourselves."

"Just a few days. Just… some time to stop running. I… I'm so sick of running."

She sighed, chewing her lip. "Maybe a few days."

The water lapped at her arms as he reached for her, the tips of his fingers brushing her shoulder. "Thank you. I… I appreciate it."

"Sure. Just don't kill me in my sleep and we're good."

He let a faint chuckle out. "If those are your only standards, I think we'll be okay."

She smiled, turning her head to see him floating close by. "That and don't touch my radios. I'm kind of possessive."

He met her eyes and nodded. "Deal."

She held her hand out and he smiled as he shook it.

Her nose scrunched up then and she brought her hand back to see. "We're getting wrinkly. We should leave soon."

He brought his own hands up and looked at them before nodding. "You said something about meat earlier? Was that the fire I saw?"

Turning over onto her side, she ducked under the water and popped back up with a nod. "Boar. Tastes more like beef than ham; it's not bad when you've got it slow-roasting on a spit. It's kind of small, but definitely enough for two people. I usually try to make the meat last, which is a little hard to do without a fridge around, so it'll be nice not having to throw it away. From what I've seen of your eating habits so far, I think you'll knock off most of it."

"And appreciate every bite," he agreed.

She snorted as she started swimming back to shore, eventually reaching a spot where her feet touched the ground. She climbed out of the water and stretched her arms high above her head, bending them back behind her shoulders before she squeezed out her braids. She turned around to see him following after her, his gaze darting down to where her shirt clung to her chest. His eyes darkened for a moment, but he merely cleared his throat and looked away.

It'd been a long time since she'd had a man look at her like that, and she felt her throat tighten at the wave of heat that ran through her. The fabric of her shirt left little to the imagination and while she wasn't exactly top-heavy, she was quite happy what her genes had passed on. And, it seemed, Oliver quite approved too. She blamed the water for how her nipples tightened, but she was pretty sure she was lying to herself. Swallowing tightly, she shifted her feet and bent to scoop up her clothes. She might currently be having a dry-spell (that possibly might not ever end considering her situation), but it was one thing to house a complete stranger and another to sleep with them. Besides, of course he'd be looking at her like that, she was probably the only woman he'd seen since he washed up on Liànyù.

Dressing, she zipped up her sweater and retrieved the bar of soap from him, tucking it back in her pocket. She brushed her feet off of dirt before she pulled on her shoes and waited for him to finish getting ready, not so subtly enjoying the play of muscle as he tugged his shirt on. When he was finished, she led him through the trees to where her spit was and checked the meat to see what progress was made. It was easier before, when Nora and Joseph were alive, because at least then they had one of them to keep an eye out to stop any animals from getting too close. They lucked out and dinner hadn't been stolen by the furry creatures that shared the island with her, plus the meat was finished.

She dug out the bag she kept close for just this situation and opened it, pulling out a hunting knife and the aluminum foil she'd stolen from Fyer's camp. After cutting the small boar down into just the pieces of meat she wanted to keep, she wrapped it in the foil and put it inside the bag to carry, putting the straps over her arms to avoid too much pressure on her arms. Dousing the fire, she dismantled the spit and put the pieces back into their hiding places. Joseph had designed it and taught both her and Nora how to use it, though Nora was the cook of the three of them. She remembered spending hours sitting with her, whittling away at sticks while Nora taught her what herbs she'd found that added flavor to the meat, making her repeat each one and memorize what they looked like. In the end, it probably ended up saving both her life and her taste buds. A pang of sadness hit her as she remembered Nora's smile and the light sound of her voice. The island was so empty without her or Joseph around to fill it up with their personalities. Maybe that was why she took Oliver up on his offer. Maybe she missed having someone around to share space with.

When they reached her home away from home, she was eager to rest but not so much for the climb that would get her there.

She sighed, but quickly pushed past her mental and physical exhaustion; she'd long had to learn to deal with it. Climbing up the hanging vines had become easier over time. She remembered in the beginning how her arms felt like limp noodles afterwards and she'd have to take a break to catch her breath. Now, she hardly noticed the effort it took. Bruce would commend her on her strength and how far she'd come in honing her body and her skill, but sometimes she wished she was still the woman of before, who was much happier to spend a night in with Chinese take-out rather than battle a group of mercs on a Chinese island.

Dinner was easy after that. She removed the roast boar and placed it on her table to begin slicing it up and serving it out. She'd planned to cook potatoes with it, but after the day she had, she figured she'd put that off until tomorrow. Maybe a stew, with potatoes and carrots. She nodded to herself as she carved off slice after slice. She wrapped the parts she wanted to use for the stew up together and wrapped the rest of the boar up to put off to the side for other meals. Finally, she joined Oliver at the table where he was picking at the bowl of fruit.

He stared at the meat with all the desperation of a man who had lived off too little for too long.

"I think I'm drooling," he said.

She smiled and pushed his plate toward him. "Just don't eat it too fast or you'll get a stomach ache, especially if you haven't had meat for a while."

"Just rabbit and the odd bird."

"Well, this isn't going to taste like those. It's juicier for one, especially with the rub Nora taught me."

He pulled his plate closer and took the knife and fork she offered him. "Thanks for this."

"Sure." She shrugged. "What are neighbors for?" she joked.

His lips twitched, but his attention quickly diverted back to the food in front of him. He cut off a healthy bite and bit into it slowly, unsure about the flavor. His brows hiked as he told her, "'s good."

She nodded.

"Really good." His brow furrowed as he cut off another piece and stuffed it in his mouth before he'd finished chewing the other.

Her hand landed on his forearm to stop him from adding a third. "There's plenty to eat," she assured, staring at him with wide eyes. "I promise."

He stared at her hand and then raised his eyes to meet hers. Slowly, he nodded, and forced himself to take his time, savoring each bite.

Not at all in a rush to eat her own meal, she cut up each piece of meat into smaller bites. Quirking her head, she glanced at him across the table. "Since you'll be staying a few days, we can take your clothes down to the water hole to wash them tomorrow. You can borrow some of Joseph's… They might be a little small on you, he wasn't quite as…  _large_ , but he was about the same height."

"Sure." He nodded, licking his lips of the juice that clung to them. "Thanks."

"And I can sew them up for you. I'm not exactly Martha Stewart, but it'll keep your clothes together. I'm not sure having you run around naked is going to help anything on this island but the view."

He choked on a laugh, and Felicity felt a flush rise to her cheeks. "That came out… wrong. I just meant that I'll sew them up before they fall off… The elements around here aren't too forgiving to bare skin."

He nodded, biting his lip to hide a smile, and then eyed her upper chest, a little burned from the sun.

"So what was life like for you before all this?" she wondered, eyebrow raised. "I know you're a Queen, so I'm guessing you lived a more extravagant life."

He nodded. "Yeah, uh…" Frowning, he shook his head. "I… I wasn't prepared for anything like this. I… I was pampered, I guess."

"Is anyone really prepared for this?" she wondered.

"You seem to be doing well." He shrugged.

"Aside from the multiple deaths and the complete social isolation. I mean, I knew I babbled before, it was kind of a  _thing_ , but now that I've been on my own for so long, I feel weird and awkward talking to you. Don't get me wrong, it's nice. I mean, I talk out loud sometimes, mostly just for some kind of sound other than the creepy forest, and I don't have a bloody handprint on a volley ball anywhere, even if I've definitely thought about it, but for the most part, it's quiet on this side of the island. So now you're here and you're all casual and comfortable, but I just keep waiting to stick my foot in my mouth and look like some crazy island crackpot."

He grinned, a chuckle escaping him as his head ducked down in his mirth. "Well, you were managing okay before you said anything."

"Oh, so now I've ruined my cool reputation as queen of the island."

"No," he denied, shaking his head. "You're still impressive. I don't think I could've managed half as long as you have."

Her amusement dipped. "It's not easy, which you've obviously noticed… It's lonely and quiet and you have your days when you definitely think that this is not what life was supposed to be like, and what's the point of it if there's no relief in sight…" She shrugged. "But, maybe it's like you with your father, I'm determined to make it here for as long as I can. I won't give up, no matter how difficult it gets."

He stared at her thoughtfully a moment. "You've carved out a nice place for yourself. It's definitely easier over here than on the other side of things…"

She leaned forward, crossing her forearms atop the table. "How  _did_ you manage to survive…? If you don't mind my asking," she hastily added.

Oliver shrugged. "I had help. I… I ran into someone early on. Yao Fei. He… He taught me some. And then there was Slade, he was on the island too, trying to find a way off, avoiding Fyers. He taught me to fight. I wasn't very good at it, at first."

"Because you were pampered?"

He smiled lightly. "Usually when I got into fights, it was because I was drunk."

"Ah, so you were a party-boy..." Her brows dipped low. "It must've been really hard for you, to go from that to here…"

His jaw ticked as he nodded shortly. "Yeah, it was… I was lost for a long time. Slade, Shado, Yao Fei, they were all used to it. They were all in survival mode, and I barely felt like I knew how to put one foot in front of the other."

"But they helped you?"

"Shado taught me how to shoot a bow. She taught me patience." His face darkened. "But she's gone now. Fyers' and his men… they killed her."

Felicity swallowed tightly. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head, offering a faint, fake smile. "It's fine. I… I should be used to it. They killed Yao Fei too. They've been hunting me and Slade for a while now. All this island ever seems to be is one giant death trap."

"It was never supposed to be a spa." She shrugged, leaning back in her chair. "When we were coming up on it, the pilot told us that it was called Liànyù… That means 'purgatory' in Chinese." She stared at him searchingly. "So you're in hell, eating dinner with the Angel of Death, outrunning a clock."

He let out a heavy breath. "At least my last meal wasn't bad."

She laughed, her head falling back.

He watched her, smiling lightly. "You don't seem like an angel of death."

"No?"

"Maybe just an angel…" He shook his head. "At the very least, merciful."

She hummed. "If there's anything I learned here it's that the island will do everything to take away the best parts of you. You can either look in the mirror and see a killer, or you can see a survivor. If I'm merciful, it's because this island wants me to lose any kind of empathy, and that's not who I am."

"Do you ever lose it? That idea of who you are?" he wondered.

"When I killed Joseph, I thought I did… I thought I could actually see his blood on my hands. That his death would change who I was at my core. And maybe it did in some ways, maybe it made me harder, but I have to remember how hard it was for him to ask me to do that… I have to remember how hard it was to throw that dagger…"

"Sounds more like the Angel of Mercy."

"I'm not sure the mercs I killed earlier would agree."

"They died faster than they could have. I've seen them torture people for hours, just for the fun of it." He shrugged. "Sometimes mercy isn't black and white."

"Maybe," she allowed, dropping her gaze back to the table before she stabbed her fork through a bite of cooling meat. "So tell me more about home… What's your family like?"

His expression softened. "I have a sister… Thea."

"Yeah?" She perked up. "What's she like?"

He chuckled, a deep rumble from his chest. "She's… a handful." At her curious look, he elaborated, "She's full of energy. She's always running around everywhere. I nicknamed her Speedy."

"Cute."

He nodded. Taking a deep breath, he turned his eyes up in thought, "One time, when she was six…"

Felicity settled in for a long story. The rest of dinner was lighthearted as Oliver told her one story after another of Thea and her escapades as a little girl. And of Oliver blaming various things on her, like a broken Ming vase that he said was the product of Thea running around a corner too fast and bumping a table. He looked softer when he talked about his sister, like a switch was flicked. Suddenly the weary, island-battered man was put aside and he came alive with the memory of brotherly adoration.

When dinner was finished, she filled a large bowl with water and rinsed off the plates and cutlery they'd used before putting it aside to dry on the table. While Oliver was fingering through a few of her books, she went up to the wooden trunk in her bedroom and dug around inside to find the leftover clothes from Joseph's time there. Nora's had been added to Felicity's collection over time; much as she wanted to conserve them in memory, the island tore up clothes too fast and she needed to have as much at her disposal as she could.

Carrying the clothes back down to the lowest bungalow, she held them out for him. "Here. You probably don't want to sleep in those clothes. We'll head out early to get them cleaned. I have a few things I want to wash, too."

He accepted the bundle of clothes and nodded at her. "Thanks."

"Sure." Her gaze dropped to the book in his hand. "Fan of Shakespeare?" she wondered.

He glanced down at the faded cover of Macbeth. "Uh, no… Can't say I studied him in any of the four schools I dropped out of."

"An academic then," she joked.

He laughed. "No, to the complete disappointment of my parents."

"Well, as a graduate of MIT, I probably shouldn't say this, but not everything depends on education." She tapped the book he held. "This is one of Shakespeare's darkest plays. It's rich with greed, betrayal, and murder. You can examine it from a scholarly point of view, pick it apart all you want, explore the nuances, but you don't need a degree to know that those three things, human nature, that's what drives us. It's all about choices, Oliver. Macbeth killed Duncan because his wife emasculated him. Now, you could blame that on his wife or you could blame it on his fragile ego. But the point is, he had a choice, and he chose to be greedy, to kill someone who trusted him, either because he wanted it or because his wife demanded it of him… Any of those four schools, did you actually  _want_ to go to them?"

He shook his head. "Never really felt like it fit."

"So maybe it wasn't failure that had you dropping out. Maybe you  _didn't_ belong. Maybe you have a different future ahead of you."

He raised his eyes to meet hers. "You mean if I ever leave purgatory?"

She half-smiled. "Well, I hear there's a nice angel to hang out with while you're there. But if you do get out, I'm sure you'll find your way." With that, she turned on her heel and started back toward the middle bungalow. It was getting darker out and she needed to light the lamps.

"Felicity," he called.

She turned back to look at him, her head quirked to one side.

He waved the book at her. "How does it end?"

She shook her head. "Like too many stories… In tragedy."

He nodded, his gaze falling to the cover, and then he cracked it open, and started at the first page.

Funny, she thought, how even knowing how something might end, they still tried anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

**Four**.

Three days passed in a blur of comfort he hadn't known in too long. Felicity had a routine.

The first morning, they walked back to the waterhole to clean their clothes, using a washboard she'd stolen from Fyers' camp and a bar of soap. It wasn't comfortable, kneeling down in the dirt as they bent over the washboard, pressed to their knees while they scrubbed away, but it was necessary. When they were done with the washing, they bathed, and Oliver was struck dumb a little.

Felicity stripped off her top, leaving her in a pair of dark underwear and a sports bra. She unbraided her hair so she could wash it and he watched as brown hair ran clear down her back to her waist, wavy and curly and thicker than he had imagined. It seemed that Fyers' mercs didn't bring a whole lot of shampoo and conditioner with them, so she ended up just using the bar of soap on her hair. He sat on a rock as he watched her, scrubbing every inch of herself down, from the long lengths of her legs to her flat, toned stomach, and up her curvy hips to her chest and arms. She was beautiful. Bright and soft, somehow, despite how the island seemed to make everything else hard and edgy.

She washed her face and then fell backwards into the water, letting it swamp over her before she popped back up, pushing her hair back, strings of brown with blonde tails stuck to her face and down her arms. She came up laughing and looked down into the water. "Fish," she said, "they keep swishing by my legs." She pulled her hair over one shoulder and flipped up the ends, frowning at them as she walked back out of the water, droplets sluicing down toned flesh. When she was close enough to him, she leaned over and squeezed her hair out on him.

He gave a shout and leapt out of the way, frowning while she merely grinned.

"Go wash up," she told him waving back at the water. "I'm going to sew some of your clothes. I think your shirt's dry by now."

He watched as she walked over to the large rock they'd laid their clothes out, letting the sun beat down and dry them. She checked how wet each were before plucking up his shirt and moving back to the rock he'd been sitting on while he watched her. She had a sewing kit with her and she quickly set to work, her brow furrowed as she focused; she looked just like she did when she was tinkering with her radios.

Drawing his attention away, he ducked under water and started cleaning himself up. The water was nice, even if it was cooler in the morning. It was the comfort of knowing he could come and wash whenever he wanted that he liked. It had been so rare when he was with the others. There was too much danger; the river was too open to attack; they couldn't risk it. Felicity didn't have that problem. With Fyers' men carefully avoiding this part of the island, she didn't have to worry about being interrupted. Not for the first time, he wished he could stay longer than the asked for few days. This feeling, of being safe and clean, it was incredible.

He lingered in the water, and when he finally climbed out, Felicity had finished sewing up both his shirt and his pants before leaving them out to dry a little longer. He joined her on the rock, where she was laid out now, her head resting on her crossed arms. Returning the favor, he shook his head out like a dog and let the water splatter over her.

She gave a little shriek and rolled out of the way, laughing.

He grinned, sitting down beside her, and wondered about that feeling of lighthearted contentment that he was almost hesitant to enjoy. In a couple days, he'd be leaving, he'd be going back to the hell of the other side of the island.

"That's a pretty intense thinking face…"

He turned his head to see her propped up on one hand, peering over at him curiously.

Her hair was beginning to dry and it was frizzing up. He pointed. "I can braid that. Thea used to get me to braid her hair."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that your way of politely telling me my hair looks terrible?"

He smiled, shrugging a shoulder.

Pushing up to sit, she turned around so her back was to him. "Work your magic fingers, Queen." She paused and then glanced at him over her shoulder. "Uh, you know what I meant…"

He pursed his lips to keep from chuckling and moved forward, kneeling behind her as he combed his fingers through her hair, drawing it all back behind her shoulders. After a few seconds, she was leaning into the touch, letting out a tiny, strangled noise of appreciation. A muscle in his jaw ticked and his gut tightened up at the sound. Shaking his head, he parted her hair, focusing on it and remembering exactly how he used to braid it for Thea. It was a simple French braid, but Felicity's hair was much longer than Thea's was. And it didn't feel the same, having his fingers run through her hair, curling at the nape of her neck, knuckles rubbing down her spine as he braided it down to the ends.

She passed him back an elastic that was little more than just a circle of fabric, and he tied it off.

"Done."

She tipped her head side to side to feel it brush against her back and then pulled it forward to admire his handiwork. "Not bad… I may have to keep you around just for your hairdressing skills." She smiled back at him over her shoulder.

When his heart thumped, he wasn't sure if it was from the idea that she might let him stay, or just how pretty she looked, with her sun-kissed cheeks and her freckled nose.

"Well? How do I look? Is my hair more presentable now?"

He reached for the tail and turned it up, brushing it against her nose, making her scrunch it up and lean away. She closed one eye against the sun and let her head fall back to feel it warm her cheeks. "We should get moving…" With a sigh, she raised her head again and climbed from the rock, making her way over to her dry clothes and pulling them on. "We've got enough meat for dinner tonight, so we don't need to hunt, but I have traps set up, so we should check them to see if anything's been caught."

He nodded, following after her. She bundled the dry and sewn up clothes into a backpack and hung it over her shoulders. For the next few hours, Felicity showed him around her side of the island, checking snares and hidden traps for hares and voles. There were a few that were struggling in her snares, caught by their legs, and she made quick work of snapping their necks before she used the snares to tie them to the belt on her waist.

"You said Nora taught you how to cook and grow things, and Joseph was an architect, so who taught you how to hunt?" Oliver wondered.

She looked up at him from where she was kneeling on the ground, resetting one of the snares that had been tripped but caught nothing. "Would you believe I watched a lot of National Geographic?"

He blinked at her, lips twitching. "No."

"Well, in my defense, I actually did. But… I used to design things like this, just on a bigger scale. Traps and stuff that could catch someone without hurting them." She frowned. "That probably sounds bad, but, I worked at Wayne Enterprises and they used to build a lot of weapons. It was mostly just blueprints for things that were never made, but we designed things. Of course, those were all more mechanical than what I'm doing here, but it's the same general idea and I had to spend a lot of time researching before we could move forward with anything more streamlined."

"And the fighting stuff?"

"I grew up learning martial arts." She reached up to adjust her glasses, brushing a smudge of dirt onto her cheek. "Let's just say the frizzy hair thing wasn't just from island humidity, and kids can be cruel."

He frowned, watching her as she continued. "So you could probably kick my ass, right?"

She grinned and looked up at him. "What do you think?"

"I think I continue to be the weakest link on this entire island," he sighed, reaching up to rub his hands over his face.

"Is that a bad thing?"

He frowned. "Of course it is."

"You know, in order to be as strong as them, you'll probably have to do things, things that don't seem like good things…" She stood, dusting her hands off. "Don't get me wrong, I know what I did was for survival, but that doesn't mean I don't regret that people have died so I could live."

"It doesn't always have to be that way though, does it? What if you're just strong enough to get away?"

She half-smiled at him, but it was sad, pitying even. "Oliver, you will spend your whole life running if you think like that. Yes, you got away, but they'll chase you. The island is only so big. The  _world_ is only so big…" She shook her head. "Sometimes you have to face what's chasing you, and you either kill it or it kills you."

"Which makes the fact that I'm not as strong as the others even worse."

"Maybe." She shrugged. "I don't know… Sometimes, I think it wouldn't be the worst thing to die knowing you're innocent." She walked past him and returned to the trail.

Oliver stared after her for a few seconds. The more he talked to her, the more he decided Felicity was a complicated person. And for someone who usually hated complications of any kind, more interested in the easiest route to what he wanted, he was surprised by how much he liked that about her.

It was getting dark when they made their way back to the bungalow. Felicity was lighting the lamps when he landed on the railing and hopped down to the floor, still feeling a little unsteady with how high up they were. She was light on her feet, moving around, familiar and comfortable with her surroundings.

"How was your sleep last night?" she wondered, raising a brow back at him. "I know the floor isn't the most comfortable."

"It wasn't terrible. The blanket you gave me helped."

She shrugged. "They're kind of scratchy, but I don't think mercs generally bring duvets with them…" Her eyes turned off. "Although, you'd think if they were going to spend most of their life killing for money, you'd want to spoil yourself. What's the point of all that money otherwise?"

"Never been a mercenary, so I can't really say."

She smiled back at him and then turned to make her way into the kitchen area. "So I was thinking of making a stew but it's getting dark and I don't like to build fires too close to home."

"Yeah, the pit you had the boar on was kind of far, wasn't it?"

"I have a few of them all over, to keep Fyers guessing." She shrugged. "Plus, if you bring it too close to home, the smell attracts animals. The last thing I need is to wake up to a mountain lion on the ground, just waiting for something to eat."

He hummed as he joined her, sitting down at the table.

"Here," she told him, handing him a bowl of fruit. "You can wash this off and cut it up for us. We'll have fruit and cold meat."

"Sure."

It was surprisingly nice to focus on so menial a task. He separated all of the grapes, cut up apples and bananas into slices, and halved a few peaches and apricots to remove their pits. When she sat down, she had a plate of meat chunks, two forks, and a pitcher of water. She poured them each a glass and stole a grape from the bowl.

"So I told you about Thea last night, why don't you tell me about your family? You said you had a mom, and a dog named Skipper?"

"Mm-hmm." She nodded. "My mom lives back in Coast City. I was her miracle baby, if you ask her. She had me pretty late in life. So she was probably happy that I was more interested in books than I was running around causing trouble."

"My mom probably  _wished_ I was a bookworm."

She smiled. "Well, it's not all it's cracked up to be. Like I said, I was picked on a lot growing up. My mom was a single parent; she got pregnant and the guy wasn't interested in being a dad. He kind of thought he was too old for that, I guess. But, she was amazing. She was a college professor - really,  _really_  smart - and she used to read me her students' dissertations as bed time stories." She laughed, shaking her head. "So, it's probably not a surprise that I was all about books and learning. I had these big glasses and braces and I was the  _worst_ at making friends. I just… I don't know, I guess I spent so much time in my head that when it was time to talk to real people, I panicked and just said whatever came to mind… So that made primary school pretty awful and my mom's way of helping was to put me into self-defence classes."

"It's hard to imagine a frizzy-haired girl with braces beating up her bullies."

"Well, I didn't." She shrugged. "The self-defence stuff, I mean, it wasn't so I could punch them in their little snot-nosed faces, which I definitely could have. But I needed to learn that what they said didn't matter. I needed to be confident with myself… Anyway, I'm pretty sure the best revenge was that while they were all looking at community colleges and living in their parents' basements, I graduated early and got a full scholarship to MIT."

He grinned, nodding. "Just desserts, I guess."

"Of course, I've been marooned on an island for four years, so I'm not really sure who got the last laugh…" Her brow furrowed thoughtfully as she considered it.

He chuckled under his breath and shook his head.

Felicity shared a few more stories with him about her mother as they continued eating and, when they finished, Oliver took on dish duty. They made their way back to the 'living room' bungalow and, while Oliver picked up where he left off in Macbeth, Felicity sat on the floor, tinkering with her radios, sometimes humming under her breath to fill the quiet. It was nice. So much so that he started falling asleep in the chair he was sitting in, the book toppling to his chest.

Vaguely, he heard shuffling. An instinct born out of constantly being on his guard snapped at him to wake up and be ready for an attack. His eyes opened, searching out the problem, but then felt a blanket cover him and the tail of Felicity's braid gently brushed his cheek. His body relaxed, eyes falling nearly closed, that instinct dulling as some tired part of his mind dubbed her an ally and not an enemy. She moved the book to the table beside him before she smoothed out the blanket once more, tapped his chest and walked away, blowing out the lamp outside before she crossed the bridge to the kitchen. One by one, he watched from slitted, sleep-heavy eyes, as she blew out each lamp and climbed up to her bungalow to sleep.

His last thought before he drifted off was that he missed her humming.

* * *

The following morning, Felicity let him sleep in, eventually waking him with an apple and a water bottle. "You'll need to stay hydrated, we're going hunting and I want to check on my spits, see if anybody's disturbed them."

Sleepily, he spread his arms out over his head before rubbing a fist against his eye. He quickly bit into the apple before pushing himself up off the chair. Felicity left him to change into clean clothes and it wasn't long before they were climbing down the vines to the ground below.

It quickly occurred to him that she liked absolute silence while she hunted, and he rather enjoyed watching how deeply she concentrated on the task. She had a bow that she offered up to him, explaining, "I'm really not that good at it. Frankly, it's always looked a little ridiculous to me. I'm better with a spear or my knives."

He happily accepted the bow and was a little surprised by how eager he was to show her what he'd learned and how well he wielded it.

They trekked deep into the forest, where she managed to track down a number of deer and elk, but tended to avoid them simply because it was a waste of meat. She decided that if he was as good an aim with his bow as he boasted, they could probably pick off a few pheasants and she made her way to an area they tended to linger in.

As they followed a creek, Felicity batted a few low-hanging vines out of the way. But when one moved, panic flared in his chest. He quickly yanked her back, spotting the head of a snake rise up, greyish green with dark spots, forked tongue peeking out and flicking in their direction.

"It's okay," Felicity told him, patting his hand gripping tight to her arm. "It's just a dice snake. They're non-venomous."

Oliver didn't look so sure apparently, because she laughed lightly. "Really, they mostly eat fish and frogs. That's probably why it's down here by the creek." She shrugged. "The worse it'll do is let out a really bad smell to make us leave."

Still, she side-stepped it and continued on, but he thought that might just be for his benefit. They were a few feet away, with him still eyeing every vine and branch suspiciously, when she said, "Thank you though, for… trying to save me, I guess."

He turned his attention to her. "What kind of guest would I be if I let my host get hurt?"

She snorted. "On this island? The status quo."

His mouth turned up on one side. "Guess that makes me special."

"It makes you something," she muttered, before climbing up a small, rocky hill. "It's not far from here. You're sure you can shoot that thing?"

He pursed his lips, rather offended. "Shado showed me. Trust me, it took a lot of water slapping."

"I… have no idea what that means, but I'll take your word for it."

He opened his mouth to explain, but she raised a hand to shush him. Her footsteps were softer now and, much to his surprise, she began climbing a tree nearby, pulling herself up into the branches with ease and waving her hand for him to follow. She put a hand on his shoulder as he met her in the tree and ducked her head down to point. There, up ahead, were a collection of pheasants, just as she'd predicted.

"Show me what you've got," she whispered, close enough to his ear that her breath skittered down his neck.

He swallowed thickly and reached back for an arrow, briefly squeezing his fingers into a fist when he felt them shake. He didn't understand why she was getting to him. Yes, he'd been on the island for a while now and he hadn't been laid in far too long, but this didn't just feel like sexual frustration. Maybe it was because they'd spent time getting to know each other, that she didn't judge him for dropping out of school, she didn't sigh in that disappointed, exasperated way that both his mother and Laurel had perfected over the years. She didn't tell him he needed to be a better fighter like Slade always hammered into him. She just shared with him and accepted what he had to share back.

This was dangerous territory, he knew. But he liked it. He liked being around her and making her laugh and joining her on her little treks through the woods, searching for game or doing her laundry. It wasn't like home, it took longer and a lot more effort, but it was easier than the rest of the island. It was just that little bit of relief that he'd been desperate for since the Queen's Gambit had sunk.

Notching the arrow, he took aim at the pheasants below and concentrated. He carefully followed their progress and steadied his arm before he finally let loose an arrow, followed by a second and a third; two landed while a third hit grass just inches from its target.

Felicity whooped though, fist-pumping happily. She rolled herself over and swung down from the tree, landing in a crouch before she hurried over to gather up their newly acquired food.

He was grinning smugly and he knew it, walking over to her with his bow in one hand. "Well? Did I impress you?"

With a pheasant in either hand, she did a dramatic bow, her arms stretched out wide. "Completely, Mr. Queen."

He chuckled under his breath.

Felicity bagged the two pheasants and handed him back his arrows to be cleaned. "We'll check the spits next. We can prep the pheasants, but I want to put the rest of the boar in a stew for today. I brought the potatoes and a few carrots."

"Sounds good."

Felicity had four spits set up in various places across her part of the island. She dismantled them and put them away for safe-keeping when she wasn't using them, and she checked each to make sure her supplies was still good. Apparently, every once in a while, Fyers' men managed to sneak past her defenses. Since the most likely places they'd check would be where the smoke came from, she liked to check each to see if the area was disturbed at all. She was pleasantly surprised to see they weren't.

"I guess the extra security I put up helped."

He frowned. "Was that what those wind-chimes were?"

She looked back at him over her shoulder, her hands on her hips. "I made them out of animal bones. They whistle on the wind; it's kind of eerie actually. And when you walk into them, they jingle, so I know if someone's close to where I am. I happened to be nearby when you tripped into them. I saw you get hooked by my snare, but I thought I'd see what was happening before I did anything about it."

He nodded. He couldn't blame her for being cautious; she'd shown him the scar on her neck after all.

"Why  _did_ you save me?" he wondered. "You had every right to think I'd stab you in the back."

She paused, turning around to face him fully. "I don't know…" Her lips quirked. "Maybe you have one of those faces."

He raised an eyebrow.

She sighed, her shoulders falling a little. Reaching up, she slid a finger over her throat. "The guy I saved… It was before I lost the others. I was… naïve, I guess. I thought we could all play fairly. But as soon as I cut him down, he had a knife to my throat…" She shook her head. "I saw it in his eyes, he was going to kill me. The only reason he didn't was because Nora knocked him over the head with a rock… The cut healed over, but it served as a reminder after that." She glanced away before telling him, "When I saw you hanging up there, I thought of him, of how close he got, and for a second I thought it'd be smarter to just leave you there. I don't understand it, my instinct told me to look out for myself, but… There was something about you. Maybe it was that pampered thing showing through, but you just didn't strike me as a killer. So I decided to do the humane thing and let you down." She eyed him quickly before saying, "Don't read into it too deep. I haven't had a lot of company lately; I was probably lonely."

He smiled faintly, but nodded. "Well, whatever made you do it… thank you, Felicity."

She nodded. "Sure…" She wiped her hands on her pants and then turned. "Come on, we've got one more spit to check out and then we'll put the stew on."

They walked to the next one in silence, with Oliver spending a lot of time wondering how someone who'd been through so much could trust someone like him. Most of his life he'd had people look to him for a good time. But he couldn't say there were a whole lot who would trust him with anything important, least of all their lives. And he was a complete stranger from where she was standing. So was it just that she was a good person who was willing to see the good in people, or was it something else? Oliver had never considered himself a particularly good person. He wasn't terrible, but he wouldn't be winning any awards for his choices. And this island had done its best to show him just how pathetic and unskilled he really was. So what could she have possibly seen that was worth saving?

Felicity started a pot of water in the next pit, hanging it over a fire she made from scratch. She added in the chunks of boar she'd wrapped up and brought with her. Handing him half the potatoes and carrots, she took the others for herself to cut up and add to the pot. When she was finished her part, she dug out a few more herbs from her bag and added them to the pot, telling him they were for flavor.

"How'd you manage to out-sneak Fyers and his men?" he wondered, brow furrowed.

"Besides the fact that I'm small and quick like a fox?" she joked.

He smiled, nodding.

She shrugged. "I had a mentor back home, I swear he could move without making a sound. He taught me how. I mean, he always knew when I was coming, but nobody else did."

He watched her for a moment as he continued to cut up the potatoes, not as used to it as she was. He supposed he should appreciate Raisa a lot more than he did. "Could you… teach me?" he wondered, feeling dumb for even asking.

Her head raised, brows quirked. "Is this because you feel weaker than everybody else on Purgatory Island?"

He sighed. "Partly."

Quirking her head, she eyed him thoughtfully. "What's the other part?"

"I'm trying to find a way to convince you to let me come back," he answered honestly.

She stared at him a long moment and then let out a small smile. "Well, you've learned most of my trails… And I've given away a lot of state secrets, so you should be able to find your way back without setting off any alarms or tripping up the snares."

"I'm still a little leery of the landmines though."

She hummed, glancing down at the pot for a moment. "You said, before, that you were with others. That two of them died, but there was a third…" She searched his eyes. "Where is he?"

His shoulders slumped a little. "Out there, somewhere. Probably looking for me, if he hasn't given up already."

"Is he loyal?"

"I… I don't know. I think so. I… think he wants to be."

She nodded and then met his eyes. "Are you?"

He swallowed tightly. "I try to be."

"If I let you stay, you'll always wonder if you abandoned him. If he died because he was looking for you… If you're a terrible person for not bringing him too."

"Would you let us both come back?" he wondered.

She offered him a faint smile. "Oliver, I took a chance on you. I don't even know your friend."

He sighed heavily. "I know. I know it's a lot to ask. I just…" His shoulders slumped. "I'm so tired. I'm tired of running and fighting and being desperate."

She nodded. "I know. I get that, I do. And I'm not trying to send you back to it. God knows I've liked having someone around. But… I've had people come here, people who tried to take this away from me, and I won't let them." She shook her head. "This is the only thing I have left. There's a chance I will never leave here. I won't let my only sanctuary be overrun."

He tried to imagine what it would be like with Slade there. Tried to imagine how he would fit into things. Where would he sleep? Would he like her humming? Would he want to take the bungalows for himself or would he be willing to share with her? Oliver couldn't imagine Felicity getting along with gruff, do-or-die Slade. He wondered if she'd be intimidated by someone so large and battle-hardened. But then he remembered how she'd taken out three men and had been prepared to leave him to die. He remembered that she spent four years on this island, killed her only last companion because he asked her to, and survived all on her own on an island full of killers. She wouldn't be intimidated. If anyone should be, it was Slade.

"So I can visit then?" he asked, trying to sound light-hearted. "Stop by for dinner sometime?"

She smiled. "Yeah, you can drop by for food any time. Especially if you shoot something and bring it by. I'm sure we could work out a system around sharing."

He let out a quiet laugh. "If you leave it open-ended, you'll see me here a lot."

"That wouldn't so bad, would it?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "Just because I don't want you and yours to move in, doesn't mean I want to cut off the only friend I've got around here."

"Friend," he repeated, the word sounding so foreign in their current landscape.

Her brows furrowed. "What did you think we were?"

"I don't know… But friends works."

"Good." She dusted off her hands before she held them out to take the carrots and potatoes from him to add to the pot.

The stew was going to take a while, but apparently Felicity had thought of that too. She dug out Macbeth from the recesses of her bag and passed it to him. He perked up, taking the weathered book from her and settling in, his back against a scratchy log as he thumbed to where he'd left off the night before. While he read, Felicity dug out some flat stones and began using them to sharpen her knives, many of which she kept strapped to her thighs and calves or on a belt around her hip. It was an unusual visual now that he thought about it. This woman who was so generous, seeking companionship and someone to trust, but wearing a veritable treasure trove of dangerous weapons on her body. Maybe she and Slade would get along better than he thought… The idea left a sour note in his mouth, but he forced his attention back to Macbeth and off the confusing feelings he was having for the woman in front of him.

Despite making that decision, however, he found his attention often drifting back to her. She had her braid pulled over one shoulder, draped down her front, the tail pooling in her lap. She rubbed a stone in circles over the edge of her blade, little by little, sharpening it with intense precision. The flames of the fire flickered and, with the cover of the tall trees blocking much of the sun from them, he watched as shadows danced over her face. She was distracting in a way that was probably dangerous in the place they were. He imagined it wouldn't be hard to spend hours just watching her, the way her lips moved as she muttered to herself and how her brow furrowed with concentration when she was working on anything, even the most menial of things.

He didn't get far in his book, instead falling victim to the distraction. Occasionally, she would reach up and brush a few stray hairs back from her cheeks, wielding her knife with little to no fear she might hurt herself. And he thought back to how he'd asked her to teach him how to defend himself. She hadn't answered, but he wondered if she might. She said he could come back and he knew he'd be doing it often, but he wondered if, in that time, she might show him how to move like she did, with such grace, as if she expected the world to meet her steps rather than checking that each step would land.

"You're staring."

He blinked and cleared his throat awkwardly. "Sorry. I zoned out."

Raising an eyebrow, she looked up at him. "On what?"

He shrugged. "You."

Her nose wrinkled. "Why?"

"Curiosity."

Tucking her knife back into a strap around her ankle, she put away her stone in a pocket of her cargo pants. "I'm not all that interesting. Trust me, if we were back home, you'd probably find me boring."

He shook his head. "I find that really hard to believe."

Smiling, she looked over at him. "Oliver, the people we are on this island are not who we are back in Gotham or in Starling… This is survival mode. I'm sure if we met at some gala Bruce was hosting, you wouldn't look twice at me. I'd be the mousy IT geek that was talking off investors ears about applied sciences and some new program I put together while you were, I don't know, drinking your weight in champagne and flirting with supermodels."

He chuckled under his breath, ducking his head. "I'll admit I've had more than my fair share of champagne…"

"And supermodels?"

"Probably a lot of those too."

She hummed, looking amused.

"But I don't think I'd overlook you." He stared at her searchingly. "I think you'd stand out."

Meeting his gaze, her lips curled up on one corner. "Maybe one day we'll get out of here and you can test that theory."

He nodded slowly. "Maybe."

She stood to check on the stew, giving it a stir.

Turning his attention down to the book, he lost himself in Shakespeare once more, deciding maybe it was better to leave that theory untested until they did get off the island. It had to be far too complicated to be testing it here, didn't it? Besides, the day after tomorrow, he'd be back on his own. That thought twisted his stomach up into knots.

The rest of the night seemed to go by quickly and he blamed it on his worry about having to leave. They ate their fill of stew around the fire before cleaning up and putting it all back to rights, storing the rinsed out pot beneath a large log, in a hole she dug and carefully covered from scavengers.

They went back to the bungalows and climbed the vines up to the top. It was getting dark and she hastily lit the lamps before joining him in the lower level. He was nearly finished Macbeth and she was going through the other books for something he might like to read next.

"Have you read all of these?" he wondered, eyeing her slightly lopsided bookshelf.

"Multiple times."

He hummed. "Which one's your favorite?"

"A classic."

She held a book up for him to see and he squinted at the faded title.

" _Pride and Prejudice_. Didn't peg you for an Austen fan."

She snorted, looking back at him over her shoulder. "What'd you think I'd pick?  _Lord of the Flies?_ "

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"Have you ever  _read_ Pride and Prejudice?" she wondered, eyes narrowed.

"Skimmed," he admitted.

"Uh-huh." She put it back on the shelf and searched around for something else. "How's  _Moby Dic_ k sound?"

"Boring," he answered plainly.

She let out an irritated sigh and his lips twitched. "I'll pick something when I'm done this."

Nodding, she plucked up one of her radios and started fiddling.

"What do you do with them?" he wondered.

"Search for a miracle."

He watched her for a while, dismantling and plucking at wires, before eventually focusing back on his book. There was an easy comfort that came with all of it. The low light of the lamps, a good read, Felicity tinkering with her radios… There was an odd sense of domesticity that probably didn't fit with the island but, somehow, fit them just fine.

He could get used to this, he decided.

* * *

When he woke up the next morning, he already felt like he was on the edge. It was his last day before he'd have to go searching for Slade, back into the deadly part of the island, outrunning mercenaries and the dangers of island-living itself. A lead weight settled in his belly and he found himself distracted as they went through their routine. Felicity offered him fruit and water for breakfast before they left the bungalow. She showed him where her wind chimes were hanging and taught him a path to the bungalow, using her knife to mark on the tree for which side he should walk on to avoid the landmines. It was a risk, especially if any of the mercs caught on, but, for whatever reason, she took it.

They walked around for a while, with her showing him where she gathered her fruit from, plucking it from specific trees and bushes. Since she had plenty at home for now, he knew that she was gathering this for him. She had a fabric sling around her neck that she was filling with still-green bananas and various berries before she moved further down to find a small orchard of apples. He watched as she climbed up the trees, weaving and bending around branches to pick the very best before she hopped down, returning to his side.

She tossed him a green apple and bit into one of her own as they started walking again. "So? What do you think you'll tell you friend?" she wondered.

"What do you mean?"

"You've been missing for a few days and now you're going to show back up in clean clothes with more food than he's probably seen in months… You don't think he'll have questions?"

He frowned. "I didn't really think about it."

"He'll probably know if you're lying."

He nodded. He had no doubt Slade would smell it on him as soon as he even tried to lie. "So what do I say?"

"What do you  _want_ to tell him?"

He shrugged, thinking on it a moment. "If I tell him you're out here, that you helped me, he'll want to come. He'll want to see you for himself, decide if you're an ally… He'll want to make it a base of operations while we try to figure out a way off the island."

"But you don't want that, do you?" She looked over at him, an eyebrow raised.

He turned his gaze down to the long grass they walked through, letting the ends brush over the palms of his hands. "If you're right, and we never get off this island, then this might be the only place that isn't completely tainted… I don't want to ruin that."

They walked for a while in silence, until her hand reached out and slipped into the crook of his elbow, squeezing lightly. When he looked over at her, she smiled at him gently. "Thank you."

He nodded, briefly distracted by how many freckles littered the bridge of her nose.

"Come on. We'll put one of your pheasants on the spit for lunch." She hurried ahead of him and he followed.

He imagined he'd be doing that a lot during their time on the island.

* * *

Oliver didn't sleep. He should have since he knew that as soon as he was back on the other side of the island, sleep would be scarce and often stressful. But as he laid there, listening to the noises of the forest around him, his head pillowed on his arm, he stared at the ceiling of the bungalow. He was safe there. Safe and warm and comfortable. The floor wasn't the most comfortable place to be, but she'd padded it with a few blankets for him. A few feet away was a kitchen stocked with fresh fruit and water and smoked boar wrapped in cloth. He could walk over and eat a chunk, sit at the slightly wobbly table and not worry about whether or not someone would sneak up and slit his throat if he let his guard down for even a second.

Felicity wasn't far either. One of only a handful of people he'd met on this island that were worth their weight in loyalty. She had survived long before him and she would survive long after him, but some part of him hoped she might not be handing out empty offers for him to come back. He didn't want to leave. He knew it was selfish, that Slade was probably looking for him, that he  _owed_ him at least enough to let him know he was okay, and that it wasn't fair that he was here, safe and comfortable, while Slade was out there, barely scraping by. But it'd been so long since he'd known anything but stress and fear and mind-numbing exhaustion. He didn't want to go.

When the sun finally began to peek up, filling the bungalows, he just waited. Waited for her to wake up, to hear her bare feet padding around on the wood floor, to hear her pouring herself some water while she cut up a grapefruit or an orange to eat. As the sun slowly brightened, warming up the air around him, making the blanket he wore almost too much cover, he heard her begin to stir. He listened as she yawned, as she made a pleased hum while she stretched her arms high above her head. He heard her make her way into the middle bungalow and go through her usual routine. She sang sometimes, the choruses to songs he hadn't heard in years, all the while moving around on the tips of her toes, not quite dancing but never quite still.

She let him stay in bed, let him linger, wasn't eager to get rid of him.

But he knew he was only putting off the inevitable.

Eventually, he tossed off his blanket and rose from his makeshift bed, joining her in the middle bungalow and taking a seat across from her at the table. She pushed an apple and an orange his way along with a knife. He cut them into slices and quietly ate, staring out a window to the branches around them.

"Do you want to stop by the waterhole before you go?" she wondered.

He nodded, and left the rest of his food unfinished, rubbing his hands over his face and pressed his fingers into the hollows of his eyes. The fruit tasted like ash now, drying up on his tongue. He dropped his hands down to the table and sighed, staring out the window, frustration painting his face.

Her fingers stretched toward him, rubbing gently over his knuckles.

He looked over at her and she smiled softly. "You can always come back," she assured. "I'll always be here."

Oliver didn't know why, since they were probably empty words of things she couldn't really promise, not with the very real hell that chased them every day, but those words comforted him. Because it might be tomorrow or the day after or even a week from then, but he knew he would come looking for her, and a part of him was desperately relieved at the idea that she would always be there, safe in the bungalows, out of reach of Fyers and forever a beacon of hope when things got too hard. Maybe that was what she would serve for now, a promise that if, and when, it got to be too much, he could always come back, always return to this place, by her side.

"I'm going to hold you to that," he replied, plucking up a chunk of apple and popping it into his mouth.

She smiled. "I'm counting on it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd really like to thank everyone who's reading this. I love writing AUs but I know a lot of people aren't as eager to read them, preferring stories based more in show canon. I really do love this story though, because I have so much planned for these characters and it's going to be a crazy ride if you'll stick with me.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I didn't get to respond to everyone, but if you ever have any questions about where this is going or about any stories or writing, really, you can always reach me on my Tumblr. I have anon on, so you don't have to have an account there. So feel free to drop by if you like.
> 
> Please do leave a review! They're my lifeblood, and especially with a story like this, I'd really like to know what you're all thinking. I'm really curious about where you guys think it's headed and what theories you might have, so please do share them!
> 
> Thank you!
> 
> \- **Lee | Fina**


	5. Chapter 5

**Five**.

Oliver hadn't seen Felicity in eight days. Eight very long, very grueling days.

When he found Slade, there was a mixture of relief and resentment that battled for dominance. He was glad his friend was alive; this island had a way of destroying everything and everyone. But at the same time, some part of him couldn't help but think that if he hadn't found Slade, he could have stayed. He could be comfortably sitting in the bungalow, safe from the harsh elements, reading a book right now. Felicity had let him borrow whatever he liked as long as he brought it back, but it wasn't the same. Still, he snuck Pride and Prejudice into his pocket before he went. He wanted to finish it before he saw her again.

"Where the hell have you been?" Slade demanded, stalking toward him, bristling with anger and, though Oliver would hesitate to believe it,  _relief_.

Instead of answering, Oliver slid the fabric sling off his shoulder. "I brought food. There's fruit and some smoked meat inside. Pheasant. I shot it myself." He held it out in a gesture full of apology. Not that he was gone, he wasn't sure he could sincerely apologize for that, but that Slade hadn't had the same respite he'd enjoyed. "I brought water, too. Not a lot, but I found a few springs where we can get more."

Slade aggressively grabbed up an apple from the sling and bit into it hard enough for juice to spray out, dribbling down his scruffy chin as he glared at Oliver. "You didn't answer my question, Kid."

He sighed. "Fyers' men chased me. When I was running, I stumbled into a snare. I thought that was it. That they'd kill me right there, but… One stepped on a landmine and the other two were killed before they could do anything…" He shrugged. "I was cut down and for the last few days I've been hiding out, just in case Fyers' men tried to hunt me down again."

Slade's eyes were slits, boring into him, demanding all the details he wasn't sharing. "Where?"

"On the other side of the island…" He pointed a thumb behind him aimlessly. "I wasn't really sure where I was going, I just kept running. They slowed down, the closer I got to that side. I've never seen anyone over there. I thought maybe they'd stop chasing me if it was too dangerous."

Slade's head drew back for a moment and he eyed Oliver curiously, something passing over his face. "Did you see her?" he wondered.

Oliver went still, his brow furrowing deeply. "Her?"

"The Angel of Death," he said, his voice thicker, deeper, and entirely more ominous that Oliver thought Felicity was due.

He considered how he should reply before remembering that this was Slade, and he would know that he was lying. "She cut me down," he answered.

"She didn't kill you…" He cocked his head, looking rather surprised, or as much as he would let himself since Slade was nothing if not in control of his reactions.

Oliver shook his head. "She considered it, but she decided I wasn't a mercenary… I guess she's got beef with Fyers' and his men."

Slade scoffed out a bitter laugh. "Who doesn't?"

"Anyway… Have you made any progress?"

Taking a moment to chew on his apple before he replied, Slade shrugged. "Little busy trying to find out what happened to you. But no, Fyers' camp is locked up tight. They've got their guard up, and it's probably got something to do with you getting three more of his men killed." Shaking his head, he turned on his heel to walk away.

Oliver hung the sling back over his neck and followed. "Slade?"

"Hm?"

"That Angel of Death thing? Why do they call her that?" he wondered.

He sighed, finding a rock to sit on as he tossed the apple core over his shoulder and dusted his hands off. He pulled a knife from his boot and started whittling away at a stick, in all likelihood just to keep himself busy and distracted. "There's a legend… Bullshit, if you ask me."

Oliver walked toward him carefully. He placed his sling of food down and took a seat beside it on the ground, his back against a boulder and his arms resting on his upturned knees. "How's it go?"

"This side, where we are…" He waved his knife around. "This is purgatory, plain and simple."

Oliver nodded.

"Legend has it that the other side of the island is something like heaven… Says that any man who walks into it whose heart isn't pure will be struck down by the angel who guards it. And when they die, she'll look down on them in their last moments and decide where their soul will rest." There was a long pause then before let out a gruff laugh. "Like I said, Kid, complete shit. Legends are just stories we tell each other to give something more meaning. Who wouldn't want to look up and see a beautiful woman before they die?" Shaking his head, he focused back on the stick in his hands and shaved the bark from it with his knife. "Fyers' men give it too much weight. Half of them won't get anywhere near that side. Superstitious idiots."

Humming, Oliver dug out a handful of grapes and picked at them, thinking of the men that Felicity had killed. She hadn't leaned over them; he hadn't seen her until she was just about to strike. The legend worked in her favor, keeping away the mercs, at least the superstitious ones, but what about the others who thought like Slade did. Did they ever test the theory?

"You saw her… When she cut you down?"

Oliver's eyes darted over to meet Slade's hard gaze. He nodded shortly.

"Well? Was she an  _angel_?" he mocked. "Legend says she's beautiful… Eyes like the ocean."

"How would they know? If they all die when they meet her?"

Slade leaned back, grinning savagely. "That's a good question."

Oliver frowned, popping a grape into his mouth. A few minutes passed before he answered him, though he wasn't sure why. "She's beautiful."

He thought back to the waterhole, to all that bare, dripping skin; toned and tanned in some places, pale and soft in others. Her hair, thick and curly, the tails a faded yellow. And the slope of her neck, soft against his fingers as he braided her hair down her back. But her smile, that was what really stood out, and her laugh, so joyful for a place so terrible.

Dirt suddenly sprayed his leg and he looked up, shaking off the memory. Apparently Slade had been calling his name, and when he hadn't answered, had decided to just kick dirt at him to get hit attention.

He blinked a few times and gave his head a faint shake. "What?"

"You know what else they say about her?" Slade eyed him curiously. "A  _siren_ … She leads men to their death, Kid. So don't get too attached."

Oliver gave a slight nod, dropping his eyes back to the sling of food. If she was a siren, that was a call he would answer often. Because death looked a lot more like hope where Felicity was concerned.

Slade left him to his thoughts after that, occasionally asking if he could find his way back to where the food supply was if he had to or what he did for the three days he was gone to keep off Fyers' radar. Oliver offered noncommittal answers, unwilling to put Felicity or her home in danger. For the next eight days, however, all he could think about was how much he missed what it had been like on the other side. In the mornings, while he was gritty and tired, he wondered if she was at the waterhole, washing up or cleaning her clothes. Maybe she was sitting on a rock, stitching up a few tears. As the days went on, he compared everything he did to what she could be doing. Was she hunting? Setting up her spits? What was she eating? Was she reading? Fiddling with her radios? Was she lonely? Did she miss him? Did she worry that he was dead? Was  _she_ dead? Had Fyers' men found a way in? Should he visit, or was it too early? Sometimes he lingered by the invisible line between either side of the island, arguing with himself about whether to cross it, to search her out, before eventually returning to Slade.

Slade noticed his preoccupation and often told him to get his head on straight, this wasn't the place to be distracted. He had to be aware, constantly.

They traveled across the island, keeping aware of Fyers' camp and his men, always on patrol. They were looking for a way in, a way to get themselves off the island, to get revenge for Shado and Yao Fei, but they were blocked at every chance. As soon as they thought they had an in to the camp, a new troop of mercenaries would fix that, setting up men to guard any hole in their defense that Oliver and Slade might be able to slip through. Every step forward ended in two steps back and Oliver was tired of it. Tired of the island and tired of feeling like he would be doing this dance until he died.

He thought those fears came true on day 9.

Slade was sure he found a way to the communications tower; they would get in, call for help, or at least find out who was coming and going and when. But just as they were going to make a move, they were surrounded.

Seven men with guns and machetes, all looking eager for blood, spilled out of the forest, circling where Oliver and Slade stood in an open field, dry, yellow grass crunching under their boots. At least two spoke English, the others were a mix of languages, one Russian, or so he thought, recognizing words Raisa had used in the past, and the others sounded like Mandarin.

"Well, well, well…" the leader of the pack, a broad shouldered man with a thick, black mustache, stepped forward, raising his machete to rest against his shoulder. "We've been lookin' for you…" His eyes cut between Slade and Oliver. "Fyers' is offering a nice reward if we bring you back alive, but…" He lowered his machete, his face darkening. "I think we've given you enough chances to get away, don't you?"

"Don't know about that, mate, might want to reconsider," Slade offered, staring at the leader with dark, menacing eyes. "You don't wanna piss off the boss, do you?"

"I think he'll just be glad the  _pest_  problem is dealt with." He grinned, cutting his eyes to the Russian, gripping a machine gun loosely. "Nikolai, what do you think?"

The man in question raised his gun and gave a nod.

"Men?" the leader wondered.

Weapons were raised, ready for a fight, and the leader's eyes flashed with anticipation.

Slade reached for the sword strapped to his back while Oliver shrugged his bow down his shoulder, his eyes moving quickly from one merc to the next. "Slade?"

"I've got this side. You got the other three. And, Kid?" He looked over at him. "Don't pull your punches."

Oliver nodded shortly, but the adrenaline was beginning to pulse through him and he was getting nervous. He hadn't killed before. Attacked, hurt people, sure, but never killed. He remembered what Felicity said, about how running was only a temporary option, that eventually those enemies caught up, whether he wanted them to or not. He took a deep breath and pulled an arrow from his quiver. He would do what he had to. To survive.

But just as Nikolai raised his gun, a savage smirk on his lips, there was a whooshing noise before suddenly a dagger had pierced right through his wrist, blood spraying off. With a cry, Nikolai dropped his gun and gripped his arm, staring with bulging, wide eyes at the dagger sticking out from it. He started cursing in his mother tongue, stumbling back, gritting his teeth as he pulled it free. The others had turned to look at him in surprise, but just as Nikolai held the dagger up angrily, a second followed and sunk straight between his eyes. He let out a shaky breath, his eyes crossing to look at the dagger, and then he fell, dead and limp to the ground.

Oliver's heart ballooned with hope. He knew those daggers.

"Felicity," he whispered.

Slade turned to look at him, his brows furrowed.

And then, like an answer to his prayers, Felicity flipped down from a tree, landing in a crouch, a spear in one hand and a dagger in the other.

The mercs split their attention between the three of them. Three went for Oliver and Slade while the other three went for Felicity. Oliver panicked at first, the odds weren't great for her. But he had little reason to worry; she met the coming attack without fear. She swung her spear, knocking one man to his knees before she bashed the end against his forehead and he fell backwards, clutching his face.

Oliver's attention was pulled away, however, when he had someone of his own to fight. One of the English mercs had descended on him, waving a machete that he barely ducked away from in time. While Oliver stumbled over his feet, the merc kept coming, hollering, spittle spraying from his lips, as he swung and swung, advancing on Oliver, who struggled to get his bow ready. Slade was splitting his attention between two others, roaring angrily as one managed to slice open his arm.

Having his attention on Slade was a fatal mistake, and Oliver tripped over a rock, falling back to the ground, staring up at his opponent, who grinned back at him triumphantly, raising his machete for one final swing.

Just as he started to bring it forward, however, a blur suddenly knocked him from his feet. Felicity rushed him, her shoulder hitting the mercenary in the ribs, and tackled him to the ground. The machete slipped from his fingers while Felicity pinned him, her hand raised, dripping, bloody dagger in hand. She didn't kill him though; instead she flipped the dagger to the blunt end of the handle and used it to knock the merc out cold.

Pushing back up to her feet, she dusted her hands off, looking rather proud of herself.

Her triumph was short-lived as the leader of the gang grabbed her by her ponytail and raised his machete up high. Oliver reacted. He still had an arrow in his hand and before he could give it much thought, he stood and crossed the space between them, sinking the head deep into the leader's side, straight through his lungs. A gurgle left his mouth before blood bubbled out between his lips. Eyes wide, he released Felicity and stumbled back, dropping to the ground, struggling and failing to breathe. He twitched, gasping, before he finally died.

Oliver stared down at him, fear and adrenaline rushing around inside him. He'd killed that man. He took his life. It all happened so fast. It didn't even take that much effort. Chaos was still moving around, but he couldn't focus, couldn't do anything but stare at the man on the ground, eyes wide open but empty. His hearing went out, a static buzz replacing it, and he just stood there, his hands shaking, confused and lost.

Seconds or minutes could have passed, he wasn't sure. And then things sped back up and he tuned back in, raising his head as he heard a noise, a gruff, demanding voice yelling his name. Not Kid, not this time, but Oliver.

Slade was staring at him, blood trickling out of a wound on his cheek. "You with us?" he asked.

Us.

 _Us_.

"Felicity." He turned abruptly, seeking her out. " _Felicity_." He hurried toward where she was kneeling, pulling her daggers from the Russian and wiping them on the grass.

She stood to meet him, somehow looking so small despite everything she'd just done.

He was panting, not quite from exertion so much as emotional chaos. "You saved my life," he said breathlessly.

She half-smiled. "Getting to be a habit of mine," she said lightly before tucking her daggers away in a few straps.

"How…?" He shook his head. "How'd you know?" He glanced around, his brow furrowed. "We're not anywhere near your side."

She shrugged, glancing away before she admitted, "I've been tracking you for the last week."

Slade offered a snort. " _Stalking_ us, you mean?"

She turned to him, her expression devoid of the emotion Oliver was used to seeing.

Taking a few steps toward Slade, who seemed to stand a little taller, his thick arms crossing over his chest in an attempt at making her cower, she tilted her chin. "Are you prey?" she asked him, raising an eyebrow.

His lips pursed. " _No_."

"Then I wasn't stalking you." She made her way back toward Oliver. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I noticed you were having some trouble with the mercs and… thought you might need some help."

He stared down at her, a faint smile pulling at his lips. "You didn't have to."

Shrugging, she said, "Well, my side of the island was getting a little too quiet."

He snorted. "I'm not that loud."

"You're not that quiet either."

Slade cleared his throat, demanding attention be brought back to him. He hiked his eyebrows at Oliver.

Flinching, Oliver motioned toward Slade. "Felicity, this is my friend, the one I told you about. Slade, this is Felicity… She was stranded here four years ago."

She raised a hand to wave at him.

Slade gave her a short nod. "You're the angel then?"

"Guilty." She put her hands to her hips. "Although, they came up with that on their own. I was just minding my own business."

"Blowing them up and killing them whenever they got too close is minding your own business…?" Slade wondered, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

Her lips pursed in a firm line. "I warned them to stay away from me. They chose not to."

His lips curled in a dark smirk. "So tell me,  _Angel_ …" he mocked. "Why let the kid here live?"

"You know, a 'thank you' wouldn't be completely out of place here." She stepped forward, her chin raised stubbornly. "In case you missed it, I just saved your ass."

He glowered down at her. "I had it under control."

"You had seven mercs about to  _decapitate_  you. The only reason you're alive right now is because I took them by surprise… If I hadn't been here, one or both of you would be dead. So instead of pulling out your measuring tape for equipment I don't even  _have_ , why don't you just thank me for showing up when I did?"

He growled down at her, eyes narrowed, and then spit out with all the vitriol he could, " _Thanks_."

"Was that so hard?"

"Like having an organ removed without anesthetic," he snipped.

"We can always test the theory. I'm sure I could scrounge up a scalpel from somewhere."

Oliver pushed his way between the two and frowned. "Slade, she saved us. She's not the enemy."

"No, just a beautiful woman who'd probably easier kill you than keep you."

"She had three days to kill me and she didn't," Oliver defended. "She's just as much a victim here as we are."

Slade scoffed. "I doubt that."

"Somebody's mother didn't tuck them in enough at night," Felicity muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Not helping," Oliver told her.

She pursed her lips at him, but thankfully held her tongue.

Slade leaned back, giving her one last look before he cast his eyes around the field. "We need to move.  _Mary Anne_ knocked a few out without killing them and we've already been here too long."

"Mary Anne?" Oliver muttered in confusion.

Felicity rolled her eyes. "It's a Gilligan's Island reference, and it was definitely before either of us got stranded here, so you need to update your pop culture knowledge." She grabbed up her spear, laying on the ground a few feet away. "He's not wrong though. We need to move."

" _We?_ " Slade asked sharply.

"I get that you don't know me, and trust is hard to come by on this island, but could you try playing nice for a little while?" she returned, brow raised.

"How long's a little while?" he muttered.

"I'm not staying," she told him. "Once you're out of harm's way, I'll go back to my side of the island and you can continue to play king cock of the roost."

A muscle ticked in his cheek. "The sooner, the better," he growled, stalking past her toward the trees.

Oliver stood uncertainly for a moment before starting after him.

Felicity's hand caught his forearm before he could get far and tugged him back.

He looked down at her curiously, a brow raised.

"Are you okay?" she asked, staring up at him searchingly. "I know that couldn't have been easy for you."

He gazed down at her a long moment, before he shook his head. "I never wanted to… be that person. I… I didn't want to kill anybody."

She nodded. "I'm not sure any of us really  _want_ to."

"But he had you… And he was going to kill you… I wasn't going to let that happen."

She smiled slowly, gently. "My hero."

He ducked his head a little, a weird heaviness to his heart.

"You two going to hold hands and go steady, or can we get outta here?" a mocking voice called to them.

Felicity turned, raising a brow at Slade. "I really don't like that guy," she said, quietly enough that only Oliver heard her.

He chuckled to himself, turning his head away so Slade wouldn't see his amusement. "Come on… We can show you were where we've been staying."

As they stepped back into the woods, their pace quickened to get away from the mercs they'd left behind. Slade took the lead at a jog, keeping far enough ahead of them that Oliver was sure he couldn't hear them talking.

Still, he waited until they were a good distance from the field the attack had broken out in before he voiced his curiosity. "So you've been tracking me for a week?"

Jogging beside him, not the least bit out of breath, she glanced at him and nodded.

He felt an embarrassed flush cover his neck. "The whole time?"

"Are you asking me if I saw you lingering on the border to my side? Because I did." She smiled over at him lightly. "I told you to come back any time."

He nodded, casting his eyes away. "I just didn't want to wear out my welcome too early."

"We agreed we were friends, right?" She didn't wait for a reply. "I know how hard it is on this side, Oliver. And I know how much you wish you didn't have to be here. If I can help you out at all, I will."

A light bulb went off then. "You've been adding fresh fruit to our supply."

She shrugged. "You were getting low."

His brow furrowed curiously. "What else have you been doing?"

There was no answer for a moment, but eventually she admitted, "I sewed up one of Grumpy's shirts. There was a big tear in the back. And I put some meat in the sack. Nothing big. Just little things that can help."

His heart thudded hard in his chest. "Thank you."

She hummed in reply and then a mischievous grin pulled at her lips. "How mad do you think he'd get if I challenged him to a race?"

Oliver shook his head. The lighthearted humor that flooded him filled with a similar, wanting ache. He'd missed this. Eight days might as well have been eight weeks. "You're playing with fire."

"Let's see if I get burned." With that, she hurried forward and rushed right by Slade, casting a grin back at him. "Well?"

It didn't take long for Slade to take the bait, and they were off. Oliver struggled to keep up. He wasn't as fast as either of them, but he did keep them in his sights. As they were running, however, he found his mind wandering back to what had happened in that field. What he'd said to Felicity was true; he wouldn't have made a different decision. That man was going to kill her, so he had to act, but that didn't change the fact that he felt… off. Different, somehow. He'd seen Slade and Yao Fei kill before. He'd seen Fyers' and his men kill, brutally, time and time again. And he'd been on the end of those knives, those guns, he knew what facing his mortality felt like. But he'd had someone else's life in his hands, and he'd destroyed it.

He didn't know he stopped running until a hand touched his face. His first instinct was to jump away, to pull his bow, to do anything but let whoever was touching him get the drop on him, even though they'd already gotten past his meager defenses to within arm's reach.

"Oliver."

He paused, his eyes focusing suddenly, and he found Felicity in front of him, staring up at him, brows raised. "Hey…"

His eyes darted away, like a dog that'd been kicked too many times and feared he would be again.

"It's okay to be scared. It's okay to feel like you did something wrong." Her hand found his and squeezed gently. "The first time I killed someone, they were going to hurt Nora, and I couldn't let that happen… I reacted. I didn't even know I was doing it at first. All of my training, everything my mentors had taught me, it was all put to the back of my mind. They were going to hurt her and I was the only one who could stop it. So I… I picked up a rock and I hit them. I didn't stop hitting them until Nora pulled me away. And I cried… I cried for days. But I don't regret it. I don't regret saving her." She swallowed tightly and stepped a little closer, peering up at him. "I know it doesn't feel like it, but the good parts of you are still there. You had to make a terrible choice, one nobody should ever have to make, and one I wish I could say you will never have to make again. But the odds are against us out here. Still, I… I'm sorry that you had to do it. And I won't look down on you if you need time to process it. I just… I want you to stay safe."

He nodded, slow and jerky.

She squeezed his hand. "Come on…"

"To camp?"

She sighed. "I'd invite you home, but I'm not ready to trust Slade…" She pursed her lips. "Not that he wouldn't think I was leading him into a trap anyway."

"It takes him a while to trust anyone."

"It should. The people on this island aren't trustworthy." Her eyes cast around suspiciously before she tugged him forward. "We should hurry up. I only stopped when I couldn't see you behind us anymore. Slade is probably getting impatient."

Oliver followed after her as she started forward once more, but he was more subdued now. The lighthearted feeling he'd had when he first saw her was fading. This was not her side of the island; it wasn't safe like it'd been when they'd been sheltered away in her bungalow. Much as he felt better at having her close, he also felt more worried. She'd nearly died today. If he hadn't killed that man, she would be dead. Guilt started to eat at him. She wouldn't be a part of this if it weren't for him. He'd stumbled into her life, forcing her to look out for him, much like he was sure Yao Fei, Shado and Slade had felt when the bumbling billionaire needed them to keep him from getting killed. It hadn't been as bad when they were on her side of the island; there, the threats were minimum. But now she was leaving her sanctuary to look out for him, she was putting herself in harm's way even though she knew she'd stay safer, stay alive longer, if she only stayed on her side.

It didn't feel right, being relieved to have her there, but he couldn't deny that seeing her swing down from that tree, an answer to his prayers, made him feel better than he had all week. For a split second, he forgot all about the danger around them and just saw her. She was even prettier than he remembered, like his brain had begun to fog up the image of her in so short a time. So much had happened between keeping an eye on Fyers and searching for a way to get past his guard to get at the communications tower. It felt like things dragged so much longer than they actually did. He'd been here almost a year, he thought, but it felt like a decade.

Slade was already at camp, slumped down by a rock, looking irritated as soon as Felicity came into view.

"Do you make any other face?" she wondered.

He cast his eyes toward Oliver. "She can't stay."

" _She_ can hear you. And she also doesn't want to," Felicity answered. "I'll stick around long enough to make sure Fyers' doesn't retaliate, and then I'll go…" She tipped her head back to consider the sky. "Preferably before dark."

"If he retaliates, we'll take care of it on our own, sweetheart," Slade mocked.

"Slade, you've seen her fight," Oliver piped up. "You might not want to admit it, but she saved us back there. She's just trying to help."

Muttering something under his breath, Slade stood. "I'm going for a walk."

"Be careful," he replied.

Slade didn't respond, instead stalking off, boots clomping loudly as he went.

"He must be  _really_ pleasant to be marooned on an island with," Felicity muttered.

Oliver's lips twitched as he turned to face her, looking her face over searchingly. She'd found the sling of fruit and was peeling open an orange. "He's not always that… abrupt."

"Really?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Well, he is, but… He just doesn't know you yet."

"He doesn't want to get to know me, Oliver," she commented lightly. "I highly doubt Slade and I will be bosom buddies at any point, and that's fine. I only came out to make sure you were okay, anyway. And he seems pretty keen to keep you alive, so I guess I can sleep better at night."

He nodded slowly and then watched her out of the corner of his eye, a little pile of orange peels in front of her. "I'm sorry you came out… And you almost got hurt because of me. That… It's not what I wanted."

She shrugged, unperturbed. "Won't be the last time I was nearly killed."

He flinched, frowning down at the ground.

"I appreciate the apology, but you don't have to make it."

He looked over at her, lips pursed.

"It wasn't you about to go Henry the Eighth on my neck. You stepped in, remember? So this wasn't your fault. Don't take the blame for something you have no control over. Rule #1."

"How many rules are there?" he wondered, mouth turning up faintly.

"For staying alive…?" She shrugged. "It's an on-going list. Trust me, there's always something new to add to it."

Oliver hummed, figuring that made sense. Every day was a new learning experience for him; given how long Felicity had been there, he could only imagine the things she'd had to do to survive and the mistakes she'd made that she had to learn from. Which, as he considered his own plight, had to make him wonder just what he would have learned, what he would have done, how many more would die by his hands, by the time he got off that island.

It was a chilling reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it took me entirely too long to edit this chapter, so I'm sorry for that, but here it finally is. I'm not sure how I feel about the end result, but I think that has more to do with the fact that this particular story always feels very dark and Felicity can be difficult to write when she's someone who has seen and been through so much that some of her more sweet and endearing qualities in the show have been muted in light of having to be defensive and prove herself day in and day out. So if her conversation with Slade feels aggressive, I think that has a lot to do with her battling for survival for so long that when she sees someone looking down on her, she knows that in order to keep going she needs to establish that she is a threat. I hope that makes sense.
> 
> also, because it's AU, certain things have been changed. clearly, oliver didn't kill someone in defense of shado as she's already died in this timeline. there's also no direct point where i can say it fits in with the canon since it was still growing when i started the story and i ended up building my own. but it is a year into oliver's time on the island and things will start to pick up pretty soon. having felicity meet slade was a big changing point in terms of where this relationship felicity has with oliver changes. now that slade knows about her, and knows the legend isn't true, he'll have some things to say and expectations to lay out moving forward.
> 
> In any case, very sorry for the insanely long wait for an update! I hope you guys are still reading this!
> 
> Please leave a review; they're my lifeblood.
> 
> \- **Lee | Fina**


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